Jacques Aubry ran out of the courtyard at the top of his speed.
"It is nothing, dear master, it is nothing," said Ascanio; "a mere scratch on my arm.—Don't feel so terribly, for I assure you it's nothing."
The surgeon, brought to the hotel by Jacques Aubry five minutes later, confirmed Ascanio's assurance that the wound was not dangerous, although quite deep, and at once set about bandaging it.
"Ah! what a weight you lift from my heart!" said Cellini. "Then I am not thy murderer, dear child! But what is the matter, my Ascanio? thy pulse is beating madly, and the blood rushing to thy face! O Monsieur le Chirurgien, we must take him away from here,—the fever is laying hold of him."
"No, no, master," said Ascanio, "on the contrary I feel much better. Leave me here, leave me here, I implore you!"
"My father?" suddenly inquired a voice behind Benvenuto, which made him jump; "what have you done with my father?"
Benvenuto turned and saw Colombe, pale and rigid, seeking the provost with her glance, as she asked for him with her voice.
"Oh! he is safe and sound, Mademoiselle! safe and sound, thanks be to Heaven!" cried Ascanio.
"Thanks be to this poor boy, who received the blow intended for him," said Benvenuto, "for you may truly say that this gallant fellow saved your life, Monsieur le Prévôt.—How's this? where are you, Messire Robert?" exclaimed Cellini, looking about for the provost, whose disappearance he could not understand.
"He is here, master," said Hermann.