It's nearing noon as Bernice makes her way to the Frenchman's townhouse. Her knock at the door is answered by a groan and a spate of unintelligible French, before the door opens. A haggard but nonetheless rather attractive young man stands before her, his long hair loose and hanging around his face. His expression is surly at first, but mellows as his eyes focus on Dr. Townes. "Oui -- ah -- that is .... hello?"
Bernice's large eyes register brief surprise, as though she hadn't expected the frenchman to be here or actually exist. "You.. uh, hallo there, sir. I'm Miss Townes, I'm Dr. Greene's assistant. Reverend Hale... asked us to come check in on you." The woman holds her doctor's bag in front of herself, whether to present it or just put it between herself and the fellow in his own doorway, it's difficult to say.
"Reverend Hale." The Frenchman's eyes drop to the bag for a moment, then travel back up Bernice's figure to meet her eyes again. "That was ... good of him. Merci. Ah, forgive me, I am all out of sorts this day, Mademoiselle Townes. I am Monsieur Phillipe Girard. Please, if you like, come in." He pushes the door open wider and stands to one side.
The young woman relaxes a little at Girard's polite demeanor, though not so much while she's scrutinized. At the invitation, she hustles through the door as though it were going to close on her midway through. "The reverend seemed to think you might be, sir. I must confess, I'm confused... some of us had heard word that you were missing, and that your horse was recovered. I had assumed the search party sent for the pastor was also searching for you..."
"Ah ... er ... yes." Girard's front isn't as well-appointed as Mrs. Milton's, and rather less well-cared for. Various papers are scattered about the room, most of the surfaces are a bit dusty, and the couch cushions are in a disarray; it looks as if someone had been sleeping on it. Most unusual, however, is the falcon on a leather perch, its head nestled beneath one wing. "There does seem to have been some of that. Would you be so kind as to tell me, Mlle Townes ... what day is it?"
Bernice glances about, still clutching her bag like something's going to jump out and wrest it away. At the sight of the falcon, however, she loses some of her timidity, staring with the kind of avid interest an animal lover has. She's brought back to the here and now by her host and patient's voice, turning to study him again with some concern. "Tuesday, sir. The sixth of October. Please forgive my saying, but you do seem a little under the weather... would you consent to examination? It shan't be a moment, I expect. I'd just like to assure Pastor Hale and perhaps I could make you a little more comfortable."
Girard goes a shade paler when she mentions the date. "The 6th," he repeats, contemplative. He follows her gaze to the falcon, and a worried look appears in his eyes. But it melts away, or perhaps is masked, by a smile as he goes on. "Forgive, my English is not so good as I would like. Certainly, I should be pleased to submit to your examination."
"Very good, sir," says Bernice, settling into her more comfortable professional role. She gestures at the nearest empty chair and works at fishing a tongue depressor and magnifying glass from her bag. "It shouldn't take long, and it could be nothing, but your question about the date does worry me... have you lost any time? It'd explain why you were missed for a while." She notices the worried look at her glance toward the raptor, and smiles reassuringly. "I have a way with animals if you'd like me to check your bird too." She adds, "He's beautiful."
The Frenchman's face lights up at 'a way with animals'. "Ah, would you, madamoiselle? To be quite truthful, I am fine ... but I am worried about him. He has not been at all himself since we got back."
Bernice smiles, its genuine nature more reassuring than what she might think to say. "I'd be happy to, Monsieur," she says. "I'll see to him after I check on you."