The portraits of these seven reverend personages decorated this apartment; and this memorable date, the 29th of July, 1714, was there engraved in letters of gold on a table of white marble.
The hospital was a low and narrow building of a single story, with a small garden.
Three days after his arrival, the Bishop visited the hospital.

The visit ended, he had the director requested to be so good as to come to his house.
"Monsieur the director of the hospital," said he to him, "how many sick people have you at the present moment ?" "Twenty-six, Monseigneur." "That was the number which I counted," said the Bishop.
"The beds," pursued the director, "are very much crowded against each other." "That is what I observed." "The halls are nothing but rooms, and it is with difficulty that the air can be changed in them." "So it seems to me." "And then, when there is a ray of sun, the garden is very small for the convalescents." "That was what I said to myself." "In case of epidemics,--we have had the typhus fever this year; we had the sweating sickness two years ago, and a hundred patients at times,--we know not what to do." "That is the thought which occurred to me." "What would you have, Monseigneur ?" said the director.

"One must resign one's self." This conversation took place in the gallery dining-room on the ground-floor.
The Bishop remained silent for a moment; then he turned abruptly to the director of the hospital.
"Monsieur," said he, "how many beds do you think this hall alone would hold ?" "Monseigneur's dining-room ?" exclaimed the stupefied director.
The Bishop cast a glance round the apartment, and seemed to be taking measures and calculations with his eyes.
"It would hold full twenty beds," said he, as though speaking to himself.

Then, raising his voice:-- "Hold, Monsieur the director of the hospital, I will tell you something.
There is evidently a mistake here.

There are thirty-six of you, in five or six small rooms.