As he turned toward the bed, the count who had opened a closet,
stopped him with an imperious gesture, holding out a purse.
Beauvouloir saw within its red silk meshes a quantity of gold, which
the count now flung to him contemptuously.

"Though you make me out a villain I am not released from the
obligation of paying you like a lord. I shall not ask you to be
discreet. This man here," (pointing to Bertrand) "will explain to you
that there are rivers and trees everywhere for miserable wretches who
chatter of me."

So saying the count advanced slowly to the bonesetter, pushed a chair
noisily toward him, as if to invite him to sit down, as he did himself
by the bedside; then he said to his wife in a specious voice:--

"Well, my pretty one, so we have a son; this is a joyful thing for us.
Do you suffer much?"

"No," murmured the countess.

The evident surprise of the mother, and the tardy demonstrations of
pleasure on the part of the father, convinced Beauvouloir that there
was some incident behind all this which escaped his penetration. He
persisted in his suspicion, and rested his hand on that of the young
wife, less to watch her condition than to convey to her some advice.

"The skin is good, I fear nothing for madame. The milk fever will
come, of course; but you need not be alarmed; that is nothing."