not have borne to let him go to any one else!"

Rough customer as he was, Desplein grasped the water-carrier's hand, and
said, "Bring them all to me."

He got the native of Cantal into the Hotel-Dieu, where he took the
greatest care of him. Bianchon had already observed in his chief a
predilection for Auvergnats, and especially for water carriers; but as
Desplein took a sort of pride in his cures at the Hotel-Dieu, the pupil
saw nothing very strange in that.

One day, as he crossed the Place Saint-Sulpice, Bianchon caught sight of
his master going into the church at about nine in the morning. Desplein,
who at that time never went a step without his cab, was on foot, and
slipped in by the door in the Rue du Petit-Lion, as if he were stealing
into some house of ill fame. The house surgeon, naturally possessed by
curiosity, knowing his master's opinions, and being himself a rabid
follower of Cabanis (_Cabaniste en dyable_, with the _y_, which in
Rabelais seems to convey an intensity of devilry)--Bianchon stole into the
church, and was not a little astonished to see the great Desplein, the
atheist, who had no mercy on the angels--who give no work to the lancet,
and cannot suffer from fistula or gastritis--in short, this audacious
scoffer kneeling humbly, and where? In the Lady Chapel, where he
remained through the mass, giving alms for the expenses of the service,
alms for the poor, and looking as serious as though he were
superintending an operation.

"He has certainly not come here to clear up the question of the Virgin's
delivery," said Bianchon to himself, astonished beyond measure. "If I
had caught him holding one of the ropes of the canopy on Corpus Christi