door. Two figures in white came out to meet me. At first I did
not observe--I had enough to do keeping my eyes open--that they
were the Mlles. de Lambert.

"God save us!" I heard one of them say. "He is hurt; he is pale.
See the blood running off his boot-leg."

Then, as one took the bit, the other eased me down from my saddle,
calling loudly for help. She took her handkerchief--that had a
perfume I have not yet forgotten--as she supported me, and wiped
the sweat and dust from my face. Then I saw they were the splendid
young ladies I had seen at the count's table. The discovery put
new life in me; it was like a dash of water in the face. I lifted
my hat and bowed to them.

"Ladies, my thanks to you," I said in as good French as I knew. "I
have been shot. May I ask you to send for a doctor?"

A butler ran down the steps; a gardener and a stable-boy hurried
out of the grove.

"To the big room--the Louis-Quinze," said one of the girls,
excitedly, as the men came to my help.

The fat butler went puffing upstairs, and they followed, on each
side of me.

"Go for a doctor, quick," said one of them to the gardener, who was
coming behind--a Frenchman who prayed to a saint as he saw my blood.