"What are you called?" asked Bussy.

"Brother Gorenflot."

"Well Brother Gorenflot, I trust my hour has not yet arrived
and as I am cold, I wish to get quickly home and warm myself."

"What is your hotel called?"

"Hotel de Bussy."

"How!" cried all, "you belong to M. de Bussy?"

"I am M. de Bussy himself."

"Bussy," cried the butcher, "the brave Bussy, the scourge of the
minions!" And raising him, he was quickly carried home, whilst
the monk went away, murmuring, "If it was that Bussy, I do not
wonder he would not confess!"

When he got home, Bussy sent for his usual doctor, who found the
wound not dangerous.

"Tell me," said Bussy, "has it not been already dressed?"

"Ma foi," said the doctor, "I am not sure."

"And was it serious enough to make me delirious?"

"Certainly."