accent, which brought tears into the eyes of Bussy.

"I do not know yet, I am going to see; meanwhile, he has fainted."

This was all Bussy heard, he seemed to feel a red-hot iron in
his side, and then lost all consciousness. Afterwards, it was
impossible for Bussy to fix the duration of this insensibility.

When he woke, a cold wind blew over his face, and harsh voices
sounded in his ears; he opened his eyes to see if it were the
people of the tapestry speaking, and hoping to see the lady again,
looked round him. But there was neither tapestry nor ceiling
visible, and the portrait had also disappeared. He saw at his
right only a man with a white apron spotted with blood; at his
left, a monk, who was raising his head; and before him, an old
woman mumbling her prayers. His wondering eyes next rested on
a mass of stone before him, in which he recognized the Temple,
and above that, the cold white sky, slightly tinted by the rising
sun. He was in the street.

"Ah, thank you, good people," said he, "for the trouble you have
taken in bringing me here. I wanted air, but you might have given
it to me by opening the window, and I should have been better
on my bed of white damask and gold than on the bare ground. But
never mind, there is in my pocket, unless you have paid yourselves,
which would have been prudent, some twenty golden crowns; take,
my friends, take."

"But, my good gentleman," said the butcher, "we did not bring
you here, but found you here as we passed."