THE MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN (Complete Edition: Volumes 1-5) by Alexandre Dumas

Author:Alexandre Dumas [Dumas, Alexandre]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788075835918
Publisher: Musaicum Press
Published: 2017-06-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XVIII.

Mademoiselle Oliva.

Table of Contents

During this time, the man who had pointed out the fictitious queen to the people touched on the shoulder another man who stood near him, in a shabby dress, and said. "For you, who are a journalist, here is a fine subject for an article."

"How so?" replied the man.

"Shall I tell you?"

"Certainly."

"The danger of being governed by a king who is governed by a queen who indulges in such paroxysms as these."

The journalist laughed. "But the Bastile?" he said.

"Pooh, nonsense! I do not mean you to write it out plainly. Who can interfere with you if you relate the history of Prince Silou and the Princess Etteniotna, Queen of Narfec? What do you say to that?"

"It is an admirable idea!" said the journalist.

"And I do not doubt that a pamphlet called 'The Paroxysms of the Princess Etteniotna at the house of the Fakeer Remsem' would have a great success."

"I believe it also."

"Then go and do it."

The journalist pressed the hand of the unknown. "Shall I send you some copies, sir? I will with pleasure if you will give me your name."

"Certainly; the idea pleases me. What is the usual circulation of your journal?"

"Two thousand."

"Then do me a favor: take these fifty louis, and publish six thousand."

"Oh, sir, you overwhelm me. May I not know the name of such a generous patron of literature?"

"You shall know, when I call for one thousand copies—at two francs each, are they not? Will they be ready in a week?"

"I will work night and day, monsieur."

"Let it be amusing."

"It shall make all Paris die with laughing, except one person."

"Who will weep over it. Apropos, date the publication from London."

"Sir, I am your humble servant." And the journalist took his leave, with his fifty louis in his pocket, highly delighted.

The unknown again turned to look at the young woman, who had now subsided into a state of exhaustion, and looked beautiful as she lay there. "Really," he said to himself, "the resemblance is frightful. God had his motives in creating it, and has no doubt condemned her to whom the resemblance is so strong."

While he made these reflections, she rose slowly from the midst of the cushions, assisting herself with the arm of an attendant, and began to arrange her somewhat disordered toilet, and then traversed the rooms, confronting boldly the looks of the people. She was somewhat astonished, however, when she found herself saluted with deep and respectful bows by a group which had already been assembled by the indefatigable stranger, who kept whispering, "Never mind, gentlemen, never mind, she is still the Queen of France; let us salute her." She next entered the courtyard, and looked about for a coach or chair, but, seeing none, was about to set off on foot, when a footman approached and said, "Shall I call madame's carriage?"

"I have none," she replied.

"Madame came in a coach?"

"Yes."

"From the Rue Dauphine?"

"Yes."

"I will take madame home."

"Do so, then," said she, although somewhat surprised at the offer.

The man made a sign, and a carriage drove up.

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