A young man was seated upon a stone bench, wiping away blood which streamed from his forehead.

It was Monsieur de Gerfaut.
At this sight Clemence supported herself against the framework of the window, and Marillac hurriedly left the room.
Pere Rousselet, who had at last been found in the kitchen, advanced majestically, eating an enormous slice of bread and butter.
"Good heavens! have you arrived at last ?" exclaimed Bergenheim.

"Here is a gentleman this crazy mare has thrown against a tree, and who has received a violent blow on the head.

Do you not think it would be the proper thing to bleed him ?" "A slight phlebotomy might be very advantageous in stopping the extravasation of blood in the frontal region," replied the peasant, calling to his aid all the technical terms he had learned when he was a hospital nurse.
"Are you sure you can do this bleeding well ?" "I'll take the liberty of saying to Monsieur le Baron that I phlebotomized Perdreau last week and Mascareau only a month ago, without any complaint from them." "Indeed! I believe you," sneered the groom, "both are on their last legs." "I am neither Perdreau nor Mascareau," observed the wounded man with a smile.
Rousselet drew himself up at full height, with the dignity of a man of talent who scorns to reply to either criticism or mistrust.
"Monsieur," said Gerfaut, turning to the Baron, "I am really causing you too much trouble.

This trifle does not merit the attention you give it.
I do not suffer in the least.