Volume 20 — XX POOR DENISE

Auguste and Bertrand had been gone several hours, and Schtrack was standing in the doorway trying to catch another glimpse of them, when a young village maiden, carrying a large bag of money in one hand, rushed into the courtyard and asked for Monsieur Dalville.

“Monsieur Dalville?” repeated Schtrack, taking his pipe from his mouth; “he isn’t here any more, mamzelle.”

“Not here! What do you mean, monsieur? This is certainly where he lived. I came here once before. You remember the time, don’t you—when you wouldn’t let me go upstairs?”

“Ah, ja! You had a little poy mit you then.”

“Yes, monsieur. But where does Monsieur Dalville live now? Do you know, monsieur? It is absolutely necessary that I should see him and speak to him! Oh! if I only could have got this money sooner—what I owe him! But tell me, monsieur,—must I go somewhere else?”

“My little mamzelle, I don’t think you will find Monsieur Dalville very easy.”

“Why not, monsieur? I am ready to go anywhere—no matter where.”

“I tell you it’s too late. How do you expect to find the address of a man who’s going round the world?”

“What’s that?—Monsieur Auguste——”

“He started off this very day mit my friend Pertrand.”

“Gone!”

“Ach ja! He got ruined here, so he’s going to try to make a fortune somewhere else.”

“He has gone away! You don’t know where he is?”

“Yes, I do—don’t I tell you he’s gone round the world?”

“Oh! how unlucky! I have come too late!”

With that Denise lost consciousness and fell; but Schtrack caught her in his arms, and after laying his pipe on the post, carried her into the house. He took her into his lodge. When she swooned, the girl dropped the bag that she carried; it burst, and the five-franc pieces rolled about the courtyard. Schtrack, sorely embarrassed because he happened to be alone for the moment, ran from Denise to the money and from the money to his pipe, crying:

“Sacretié! this girl has to go and faint just when my wife ain’t in! Well, well! my pipe’s gone out, and the money’s rolling all about! Sacretié!”

Luckily for the old German and for Denise, another lady entered the house at this juncture. It was Mademoiselle Virginie, who had come to invite herself to breakfast with Auguste, and who, when she saw the five-franc pieces scattered about the courtyard, exclaimed in surprise:

“Mon Dieu! what magnificence! They throw money out o’window here! I seem to have come just in time.”

“Don’t touch! don’t touch!” cried Schtrack from his lodge; “it belongs to this girl who won’t open her eyes.”

“Well, old Dutchman, am I touching your money? What an uncivil old villain it is! What do you take me for, Monsieur Helvetian?—What girl can he be talking about?”

And as she spoke, Virginie walked toward the lodge, and she uttered a cry of surprise when she saw the young girl from Montfermeil, whom Schtrack was drenching with vinegar.

“It’s Denise! it’s my poor Denise!” she said, pushing Schtrack aside and taking charge of the young woman.

“Poor Denise! She ain’t so poor, for I tell you that bag of crowns is hers,” said Schtrack, returning to the courtyard to recover his pipe and pick up the money.

Virginie’s efforts were soon successful in restoring Denise to consciousness. When she opened her eyes they rested on Virginie, and she exclaimed, sobbing bitterly:

“Oh! he has gone away, madame!”

“Who, pray, my dear love?”

“Monsieur Auguste.”

“Auguste gone away! nonsense! he’ll come back, of course, won’t he?”

“Oh, no, madame! I shall never see him again. He’s gone a long way.”

“I say, Dutchman, is it true that Auguste has left Paris?”

“Ja! ja! he’s gone round the world with Pertrand.”

“Round the world! Great God! And I came to ask him to invite me to breakfast! Come, my little Denise, don’t cry like that!—Poor child! she makes me feel sad.—So you loved Auguste, did you, my dear child?”

“Oh, yes, madame!”

“There! I knew it! she loved him! I suspected as much.—And he swore that he loved you too, of course; for these villains of men, they swear to that as if they were just saying good-morning.”

“No, madame, Auguste didn’t love me, I’m very sure of that!”

“Then it’s very kind of you to weep for him.”

“Oh! I can’t help it.”

“I know well enough that love is stronger than we are. I know all about that! I have been through it. There are men that one can’t help persisting in loving.—And you came to Paris to see him?”

“Yes, madame, and to give him this money. When you came to see me three weeks ago, you told us that Monsieur Auguste was ruined. I didn’t know anything about it before.”

“Yes, yes, I remember; and I played ghost; and if it hadn’t been for your dog nipping the calf of my leg, I’d have had the whole village in the air.”

“Last summer Monsieur Auguste gave me a thousand crowns for little Coco; but he was rich then; to-day, as he isn’t rich any more, it seemed to me that I ought to give back that money. We had used it for building a cottage and laying out a garden; but I made my aunt understand that we mustn’t tell Monsieur Auguste that we had used the money at all. My aunt’s kindhearted too. Besides, it was no more than our duty. As I succeeded in getting the last of the money yesterday, I started to bring it to him right away. I came alone so as not to be delayed, and after all I got here too late! He has gone, and he isn’t coming back again!”

Denise began to cry again, while Schtrack returned with the money and handed it to her, saying:

“There ain’t a single one missing; count ‘em, mamzelle.”

“Alas! what shall I do with it now? This money was for him,” said Denise.

“You had better take it home again, my child; a person can never have too much of it,” Virginie replied, while Schtrack, still holding the bag, repeated:

“Count ‘em, mamzelle, if you blease.”

“Don’t you see that she don’t want to count it, you pig-headed old fool?” said Virginie. “We all know that the Dutchman is honest.”

“Never mind, count just the same, mamzelle, if you blease.”

Virginie decided to count the money, because Schtrack would not otherwise have left them in peace. Meanwhile Denise said to the concierge:

“Did Monsieur Auguste look very sad when he went away, monsieur?”

“Sad? no, mamzelle, he was fery glad to go, judging from what he said.”

“I’ll bet he’s gone to pick up a legacy,” said Virginie, “and that’s why he went off so sudden. Didn’t he tell you so, Dutchman?”

“No, he haf not said anything of a legacy, but he sold[F] all his furniture.”

“What’s that? He smashed all his furniture? Had he gone mad, then?”

“I tell you he sold everything, to get money.”

“Oh! sold his furniture! Why don’t you say what you mean—with your Zurich French!”

“You see how badly off he must have been,” said Denise, “to sell everything he had!”

“That don’t prove anything, my dear girl; in the first place, as he was leaving Paris, he didn’t need any furniture; and then there are people who prefer to live in furnished lodgings. For my part, I’ve sold my furniture four or five times, and yet I stay in Paris; you see that every day.—But after all, in which direction has the fellow gone? Didn’t he tell you, monsieur le concierge?”

“Yes; he’s gone round the world.”

“The deuce! that’s a definite address! Think of writing: ‘To Monsieur So-and-So, going round the world!’—And he’s taken Bertrand with him, has he?”

“Yes, I’m fery sorry for it, because Pertrand was just beginning to work fery gut.”

“Bertrand, work? at what, pray?”

“At making preeches, bantaloons; it was me who taught him.”

“My dear man, I think you must be dreaming now. Bertrand, the old soldier, Auguste’s faithful servant, make breeches?”

“Like a horse.”

“You’re crazy!”

“No, no, I ain’t; Pertrand, he did work. He passed every night working, and my wife told me he did it to help his master, who was throwing away all his money.”

Virginie was speechless, but Denise exclaimed:

“I understand only too well. Dear old Bertrand! I knew he was a fine fellow! He worked to help Auguste, who didn’t know anything about it, probably.”

“Oh, no! he was going to sew up my tongue if I said a word.”

“Well, madame, if Monsieur Auguste hadn’t been without means, would Bertrand have worked at tailoring—worked all night?”

“Faith, my dear girl, I don’t understand it at all. The last time I saw Auguste he treated me to punch, and yet he must have moved up to the fifth floor even then. To be sure, he had such a kind heart, he was so generous!—Well, well! there she is crying again! My dear Denise, you’ll make your eyes as red as a rabbit’s; and that won’t bring Auguste back. Poor child! how she loves him! Those ne’er-do-wells must have some kind of magic power, to inspire such passions. Don’t get excited, Denise—he’ll come back, he hasn’t gone away forever. You’ll see him again, I’m sure of it; and when he knows how much you love him, I propose that he shall love you and cherish you; I’ll tell him what grief and torture he has caused you; I’ll tell him how good, how gentle and sweet you are. Come, don’t cry any more. Kiss me, Denise; Auguste will love you, for you well deserve it.”

Virginie was deeply moved; Denise’s suffering had melted her; for the first time in a very long while, genuine tears fell from her eyes as she threw her arms about the village girl.

Nothing pacifies the wretched so quickly as to find that someone else shares their distress. Denise listened to Virginie’s entreaties; she exerted herself to summon her courage; she wiped her eyes, rose, and said with a long-drawn sigh:

“I’ll go back to the village then.”

“Yes, my dear girl, that’s the wisest thing you can do.”

“But suppose he should come back, madame?”

“Well, I’ll let you know, I’ll come and tell you; I promise to do my utmost to learn something about him.”

“Ah! how good you are, madame!”

“Why, no—the trouble is that you’re a slip of a girl who ought to be kept under glass.”

“Monsieur le concierge,” said Denise, “if you hear anything about Monsieur Auguste, don’t forget to ask where he is, and find out where a person can write to him.”

“Ja, mamzelle.”

“Don’t you be afraid, little Denise: I’ll come often and ask Dutchy if he knows anything. He’s a good fellow, though he does smoke all the time, is Monsieur—What’s your name?”

“Schtrack.”

“Schtrack! Oh! what a name! Schtrack! I believe that that means blackguardism in German. Never mind—au revoir, Monsieur Schtrack. Come, my love, I’ll walk to the diligence office with you.”

Denise left Auguste’s late abode, and, with her arm through Virginie’s, returned to the diligence office, carrying the bag of money which she had no choice but to take back to the village. Virginie offered to take the trip with her, but the girl declined her offer with thanks, and, after urging her to try to find out something concerning the man whom she had hoped to find in Paris, she entered the stage and rode sadly back to Montfermeil, saying to herself:

“Alas! I am not lucky in my trips to Paris.”

XXI

THE TRAVELLERS’ FIRST ADVENTURE

Auguste and Bertrand had taken the Lyon diligence. The young man was inside, and his companion on the box,—in order to enjoy the fresh air, so he told Auguste, but in reality as an economical measure.

It was the first time that Auguste had ever found himself in a public conveyance; accustomed as he was to drive in a light cabriolet, drawn by spirited horses, and to follow naught save his own desires and stop whereever he chose, it was not without a feeling of disgust that he found himself compelled to travel with people whom he did not know, to be pushed by this one, elbowed by that one, and forced to listen to conversations which had no interest for him.

At his left was a stout party of some fifty years, with a cotton cap on his head, surmounted by a red handkerchief, and over it all a helmet-shaped cap trimmed with fur, with vizors before and behind. At his right was an old woman, whose face luckily was concealed beneath a shabby black satin bonnet, over which was thrown a green veil that no one was tempted to raise.

The vehicle had barely started when the man on Auguste’s left began to perform like neighbor Mauflard, and the lady on the right followed his example. But in his sleep the stout gentleman dug his elbow into Auguste’s ribs, and the old lady dropped her head on his shoulder. Finding his hands full with repelling the elbow of the one and avoiding the other’s head, he said to himself: “It’s great fun to travel by diligence! Oh! my pretty cabriolet, which Bébelle drew so swiftly through the dust, where art thou? Alas! if I had been more prudent, I should still possess thee; for if I had not begun to anticipate my income, I should not have encroached on my capital; if I had not done that, I should not have dreamed of disturbing my funds, which were safely invested; and I should have found that twenty thousand francs absolutely assured was better than thirty thousand due solely to speculation.—Pray remove your head, madame, if you please.—In that case, I shouldn’t have put my property in the hands of that knave of a Destival, who consequently would not have run away with it; and then I should still be as rich as ever. I should have been able to do good with my money; and I would have gone to Montfermeil again and kept my promise to that pretty boy; I would not have made love to Denise, as she loves some man in the village who is probably married to her before now; but I would have seen her married, and would have reminded her in jest of that fall from her donkey in the woods; perhaps—Oh! for heaven’s sake, monsieur, keep your arms still—you are breaking my ribs!”

Auguste’s opposite neighbors were two gentlemen and a lady. The latter, who sat between the two men, was directly opposite Auguste; but as she wore a very large hood, and as she kept her head lowered, he could not see her face.

“Probably she isn’t pretty,” said our traveller to himself, “or she would have raised her head before this.”

The lady’s dress was very simple—a travelling costume. The two men beside her were travelling salesmen, one in wines, the other in linens; they had begun a conversation which seemed likely not to end before they reached Lyon.

Auguste was dazed by their constant chattering about casks, veltes, jouys, Rouen silks, good years and failures; and, disgusted by the proximity of the sleepers, he was regretting that he was not with Bertrand, and longing for the first halt, when the lady in the hood moved her foot and touched Auguste’s. A “pardon, monsieur” was instantly pronounced in a very pleasant voice. This incident roused Auguste from his despondency, inspiring the wish to see the face of his vis-à-vis; and as his legs were in close proximity to hers, he moved them slightly and said a few words as to the lack of space in diligences;—an excuse for beginning a conversation. The lady replied with a “Yes, monsieur,” but did not raise her head; whereupon our young man’s curiosity became all the keener. She did not seem disposed to talk, but she did move her knees, which touched those of her vis-à-vis. Auguste was conscious of a desire to press one of those knees between his own, but was deterred by this thought: “Suppose she should prove to be ugly! How I should regret having made her acquaintance!”

Notwithstanding, the young man ventured to press one knee gently; she did not withdraw it, but she did not raise her head; and Auguste, secretly enjoying the knee-play, said to himself: “Perhaps it’s as well that I can’t see her features, for I can at all events imagine that she is charming, adorable. With that idea in my mind, the mere rustling of her dress causes me a pleasant sensation, and it helps me to forget the tedium of the journey. Ah! madame, if you are ugly, do not look up, I pray, for you would thereby put an end to a too delicious illusion.”

As they descended a hill, a violent jolt nearly overturned the diligence. The stout man and the old lady woke with a jump. At the same moment the hooded lady uttered a shriek of alarm and raised her head. Auguste saw a pretty face of twenty to twenty-five years, fresh and blooming, regular features, expressive eyes—in short, a charming ensemble which delighted him and caused him to press more tenderly the knee that was between his.

But she had already dropped her head again. The scare was at an end, the commercial travellers resumed their conversation, Auguste’s neighbors closed their eyes once more, and he, enraptured by what he had seen, moved constantly nearer to his vis-à-vis, who allowed him to place his feet on hers.

“She is lovely,” thought Auguste, “but her actions are very strange. If she allows me to press her knees like this, it must be that she likes it, or that she doesn’t dare to take offence. In the first case, she is a woman who is not inclined to avoid adventures; in the second case, she is an innocent young thing, who has never travelled by diligence before. I will satisfy myself that the second conjecture is the true one; we should always look at the best side.”

The diligence stopped at Corbeil. The two salesmen hastily left the vehicle; the stout man extricated himself from his corner with difficulty; the old woman of the green veil dropped into the arms of the man who held the door open, and Auguste, having alighted, offered his hand to the young lady in the hood. But she replied with a faint sigh:

“Thanks, monsieur, I am not going to get out.”

“She isn’t going to get out!” repeated Auguste to himself, as he stood by the door. “Poor thing! she isn’t coming to the inn to dine, which ordinarily indicates obligatory economy.”

“Coming to dinner, lieutenant?” inquired Bertrand, who had climbed down from his seat on the box, and was awaiting Auguste at the inn door.

“Yes, yes, here I am.”

“Have you left anything in the diligence?”

“No, but I would have liked——”

“Do you hear that? they say that the passengers must hurry.”

Bertrand came forward to see what was keeping his master by the diligence; he spied the young lady and muttered:

“Morbleu! another! I might have known that there was a petticoat at the bottom of it! Remember, lieutenant—we left Paris in order to be good, to reform.”

“You are right, my friend,” said Auguste; and he turned regretfully away from the vehicle and followed Bertrand to the inn.

The travellers’ dinner was soon at an end; urged on by the driver, they all returned to their places, the old lady carrying her dessert. Auguste gazed with renewed interest at the young woman, who probably had dined on a modest loaf, and he placed his knees against hers once more with greater respect than before, because the idea of misfortunes puts thoughts of pleasure to silence.

The old woman requested Auguste to break some nuts which she had brought from the table, the stout man offered him snuff, the commercial travellers entered into conversation with him, everyone trying to become better acquainted with his fellow-passengers. The little lady in the hood alone held her peace. But darkness began to fall. Auguste longed for it; his neighbors dozed, the salesmen did likewise, and he moved his knees forward, trying by that means to establish an understanding with his vis-à-vis, and saying to himself:

“If she is unfortunate, I must try to comfort her. Moreover, I squeezed her knees this morning, and should I act as if I thought her less attractive just because she hasn’t the means to dine at inns? That would be worthy of Monsieur de la Thomassinière.”

As he did not wish to give his vis-à-vis such an opinion of him, the young man tenderly pressed the limb which she abandoned to him, and ventured to take a hand, which she did not withdraw. Night does not always bring gloomy thoughts, and Auguste looked forward to obtaining a kiss from the little lady, who seemed of so yielding a humor. But his two neighbors embarrassed him; at the slightest motion on his part toward leaning forward, the old lady and the stout man fell across his back, and he could not return to his place until he had thrust them back into their corners. The two salesmen, too, in their slumber, leaned against the young woman who separated them, and their heads frequently came in contact with her hood.

“Riding in a diligence is not all pleasure,” said Auguste in an undertone.

“Oh, no! it isn’t all pleasure, monsieur,” replied the young woman.

But, in order to enjoy greater pleasure, the young man leaned forward again and bestowed a loving kiss on one of the salesmen, whose face was at that moment in front of the hood. The salesman woke, trying to guess the source of that mark of affection, and Auguste was amazed to find that the young woman’s chin was less soft than her hand.

The salesman could see nobody save his neighbor who was likely to have kissed him while he slept; and although he was unaccustomed to inspire passions, he was convinced that he had kindled a flame in the heart of the young woman by his side. As he did not choose to be behindhand with her, the young man, who had hitherto had no thought for anything but his samples, and the duties imposed on his wares, began to think of something different, and to play with his hands on the young woman’s knees. She made no resistance, while the two men, who seemed to be playing the pied de bœuf, seized each other’s hand and pressed it with a vigor which surprised them both.

The first rays of dawn surprised the travellers in this situation. Auguste laughed heartily, the salesman testily withdrew his hand and the young woman her knee; but she glanced furtively at Auguste, and he promised himself compensation for the blunders of the night.

In the morning they arrived at Auxerre; again the young woman remained in the diligence. Toward evening they halted at Avallon, where they were to dine. The young woman alighted, but she did not enter the inn; having purchased a loaf of bread and some other things, she sat down a short distance from the inn. Auguste, who had followed her with his eyes, allowed Bertrand to go in alone, saying that he was not hungry as yet, and joined his fair fellow-traveller, with whom he entered into conversation.

“Are you leaving Paris, madame?”

“Yes, monsieur”—with a sigh.

“Have you lived there long?”

“I was born there, monsieur.”

“And you are turning your back on your native place?”

“I have no choice, monsieur”—with another sigh.

“Are you going to live in Lyon, madame?”

“I don’t know, monsieur.”

“Ah! you have no settled plan?”

“I am so unfortunate, monsieur!”

“You arouse my profound interest, madame; but we can talk more comfortably elsewhere than on this road. If you will take my arm, madame, we might take a walk about the place until it is time to start.”

“With pleasure, monsieur.”

The lady took Auguste’s arm, and they walked away from the inn, talking.

“If I were not afraid of being too inquisitive, madame, I would ask what makes you leave Paris.”

“Oh! I am very willing to tell you, monsieur. I am the child of respectable tradespeople; they married me when very young to a man whom I did not love; but I felt bound to obey, in order to gratify my parents.”

“That was very good of you, madame.”

“There was a very agreeable gentleman who had courted me before I was married; I didn’t love him either, but I listened to him to gratify him.”

“I understand, madame.”

“My husband didn’t make me happy; he was never willing that I should go out, and I stayed at home because that gratified him. But sometimes I had visitors, among others the gentleman who used to court me.”

“And that didn’t gratify your husband?”

“Apparently not, monsieur; for not long ago, happening to find him with me, he turned me out of doors. I undertook to be angry, and he beat me, monsieur; and said he’d do it again whenever he chose.”

“He is a man who has a most brutal way of procuring himself pleasure.”

“As I didn’t care to be beaten again, I left my husband, and started for Lyon, having barely enough to pay for my passage.”

“I suppose then, madame, that you have friends in Lyon?”

“Oh! it was that gentleman who used to come to see me—he said that he was going there. However, I am no more anxious to go to Lyon than anywhere else. I wanted to get away from my husband, who made me so unhappy.”

Meanwhile the fellow-travellers had reached a small restaurant. Auguste, remembering that his companion had not dined, proposed that they should go in and regale themselves, and she assented—to gratify him.

They entered the restaurant. Auguste asked for a private room, because one does not need witnesses to console a young wife whose husband has beaten her. He ordered as toothsome a repast as the place could afford, because he forgot as usual that he was no longer rich, and readily fell into his former habits. The Avallon restaurateur was put to his mettle to provide a dainty refection for the strangers who had honored his establishment. The dinner was served; Auguste urged the young woman to partake, and she, although she said that she complied only to gratify him, ate everything and did not need to be urged to drink freely of a native wine which the host declared to be of the vintage of the year of the comet.

Dining together, they became more and more friendly. At first Auguste seated himself opposite the young lady; but he reflected that they were much nearer than that in the diligence, and that it was, to say the least, unusual for two persons to keep at a respectful distance, tête-à-tête in a private dining-room, when they have pressed each other’s knees before witnesses. So he took his seat beside the young lady, who sighed from time to time, but did not repulse the young man, who seemed most anxious to console her. He tenderly squeezed a very soft hand, expressing great surprise that a husband could be so brutal as to hurt such a charming woman.

“Men are cruel,” said the young woman, who continued to keep her eyes on the floor.

“They are tyrants,” rejoined Auguste, pressing her plump hand to his lips.

“They cause all our misery!” added the young woman, as she allowed her companion to kiss her.

“Ah! they cause something very different!” cried Auguste, throwing his arms about her.

“They do! they do!” whispered the young woman, apparently no longer conscious what they do or what she did; but after several meagre repasts, it was no wonder that the wine of the comet year caused her to lose her head.

On recovering his wits, Auguste said:

“By the way—the diligence?”

“Oh! that’s so—the diligence!” echoed the young woman, heaving a sigh, presumably from habit.

“I am inclined to think, my dear love, that it is high time to return to it.”

“Very well! let us return, my friend.”

As you see, the wine of the comet had established most friendly relations between the travellers. But as a general rule, affairs that are negotiated in diligences are speedily consummated.

Auguste summoned the keeper of the restaurant and paid for the dinner. The young lady replaced her hood, which was no longer on her head, I know not why. Then they left the private room and walked back, arm-in-arm, toward the inn where they had left the diligence.

As they walked Auguste talked with his companion, who seemed to him to have a very sweet disposition, but whose wit did not respond to the idea suggested by her decidedly expressive countenance. There are women whose wit is all in their eyes, and with them one must content oneself with pantomime.

As they approached the inn Auguste espied Bertrand, striding back and forth in front of the establishment, looking to right and left with gestures of impatience, and swearing energetically from time to time. When he caught sight of Auguste, he ran to meet him and made a horrible wry face at the young woman who was hanging on his master’s arm.

“Here you are at last, monsieur! Sacrebleu! I thought that you’d left me here to chase the swallows!”

“Don’t get excited, Bertrand, I am here. I am not lost, you see. Well, when do we start?”

“Start! start for where, monsieur?”

“Why, for Lyon, of course!”

“And is that why you let the diligence go—that you made me wait and call you and look everywhere for you?”

“What’s that? the diligence has gone?”

“Morbleu, yes! more than an hour ago; but the time evidently didn’t seem long to you!”

“The diligence has gone!” repeated Auguste, dropping his companion’s arm; but she, evidently setting great store by its support, instantly took it again, saying:

“That’s very amusing! isn’t it, my dear friend?”

“It no longer seems so amusing to me,” said Auguste; while Bertrand walked away, and muttered with an oath, stamping the ground:

“Her dear friend! Ten thousand bayonets! this is a very pretty mess!”

“But couldn’t they have waited a little while for us, Bertrand?” asked Auguste.

“They waited two minutes, monsieur, and that’s a long time for a diligence.”

“And you didn’t go?”

“Do you suppose that I would go without you? Ain’t I attached to you, and to nobody else? What’s the sense of my being at Lyon if you ain’t there?”

“You did well, Bertrand. And our valises?”

“Oh! they’re here. As I had a shrewd idea that there was something new, I wouldn’t let them go without us.”

“Bless my soul, my friend, we must make the best of this accident. After all, it matters not whether we go to Lyon or somewhere else; and whether we arrive there to-morrow or a week hence.”

“Mon Dieu! my dear friend, it’s a matter of indifference to me too,” said the young woman.

Bertrand frowned and motioned to his master that he wanted to speak to him in private. Auguste succeeded in making the young woman understand that she must let go his arm for a moment, and he joined the ex-corporal, who said to him with a stern expression:

“I beg pardon, lieutenant, but who is this woman who sticks to your arm as if you had glue on your sleeve?”

“She’s a young woman who was with us in the diligence.”

“And why didn’t she stay there?”

“Because I took her to walk with me.”

“Who is the woman?”

“A very entertaining person.”

“She didn’t tell you what she is doing, did she?”

“To be sure: she’s going to Lyon, in order not to stay in Paris.”

“The deuce! if that’s her only motive, I can understand that she doesn’t care whether she goes there or somewhere else. But why is she leaving Paris? A young woman don’t travel alone like this, just for the pleasure of travelling.”

“Oh! she had a very urgent reason—her husband beat her.”

“Perhaps he was justified, monsieur.”

“Oh! Bertrand!”

“Why does she call you her dear friend so soon?”

“Because—because——”

“Oh, yes! because—I understand perfectly. But after all, monsieur, what do you expect to do with this woman?”

“I don’t quite know; but you must see that I can’t desert her here after being the cause of her losing the diligence.”

“I should say rather that she made you lose it by telling you fairy tales, and arousing your pity by adventures that never happened, I’ll wager. Besides, monsieur, a woman who takes up with the first man that comes along can’t be anything but an adventuress. I’ll bet that you don’t even know her name?”

“Faith, no. But what does the name matter? Can’t a person assume any name at pleasure? Whether this young woman has told me the truth or not, I won’t leave her penniless far from the place to which she is going.”

“Oho! she hasn’t any money, eh?”

“Why, she had nothing for dinner but bread.”

“This is a very excellent find that you’ve made! So, monsieur, when you left Paris, in order to be prudent and economize, here you are with a woman on your hands barely sixty leagues from Paris!”

“Bah! what can you expect? Is it my fault? Come, Bertrand, don’t scold; hereafter I’ll reflect a little more; meanwhile let us abandon ourselves to our destiny.”

Auguste returned to the young woman and Bertrand followed him, saying to himself:

“I am very much afraid he’s incorrigible.”

The young woman promptly resumed possession of Auguste’s arm.

“My dear friend,” he said to her, “as the diligence has gone off without us, we need not hurry now.”

“Oh, not at all.”

“We can even pass a day or two here.”

“I should like to if it would gratify you.”

“Then we will consider how we will continue our journey—whether by some chance conveyance, by stage—or even on foot, so that we can admire the country in case it is worthy of admiration.”

“Whatever will gratify you, my friend.”

“You see, Bertrand,” said Auguste in an undertone, “this little woman is good-nature itself, she seeks only to gratify me.”

“She doesn’t gratify me in the very least, monsieur.”

“Because you don’t choose to be gratified.—By the way, as we are to stay here,” continued Auguste, “we will take rooms at this inn. Bertrand, see that rooms are prepared for us.”

“Yes, monsieur;—and for madame, too?”

“That goes without saying.—By the way, as we are under the necessity of economizing, one room will be enough for madame and myself. Isn’t that so, my dear love?”

“Mon Dieu! yes, if that will gratify you.”

“By the way, my dear love, you haven’t yet told me your name.”

“My name is Adèle—or Madame Florimont, as you please.”

“Rather as you please.”

“Call me Adèle—I shall like that.”

“Adèle it is.”

“Madame Florimont!” muttered Bertrand with a shrug; “that’s a stage name—she got that in the wings of some theatre.”

“My name is Auguste, my dear Adèle; for it is right that you should know who I am.”

“Oh! mon Dieu! it’s all one to me!”

“I see that you think more of the person than of the title, and that you judge people by their faces; if that method never deceives you, I congratulate you. But it is still light and the weather is fine; the best thing for us to do before supper, I think, is to take a walk. Will you come with us, Bertrand?”

“No, lieutenant, I have no desire to walk.”

Auguste walked away with the emotional Adèle. They traversed the pretty little town of Avallon in every direction. Auguste commented upon what he saw and the young woman invariably agreed with him; so that he finally decided that a woman who can only assent to everything that is said without making any observations on her own account, is rather monotonous company. But Madame Florimont had very pretty eyes, and it was not long since she had first fixed them upon Auguste; so that, when he had discoursed for some time without obtaining anything but insignificant replies, he played with Adèle with his eyes, whereupon she said in pantomime the sweetest things imaginable.

Only in front of the shops did the young woman make any remarks of her own motion. She stopped to gaze at a shawl and heaved a profound sigh.

“Would you like it?” Auguste asked.

“Oh! it would give me great pleasure.”

“Very well, let’s buy it.”

Giving way to his former habit, the young man bought the shawl for Madame Florimont, who at once threw it over her shoulders, having rolled up the little neckerchief which she wore about her neck, and placed it under her arm. A little farther on she stopped and sighed again as she eyed a pretty cap. At Auguste’s instance she tried it on; and as it was wonderfully becoming under the great hood, the cap was purchased. Next, it was in front of a jeweller’s establishment that the young woman stopped and sighed: she wanted a little ring which would remind her of the day she met Auguste! He considered that desire too flattering not to be satisfied. But after that he took his companion back to the inn, not allowing her to stop anywhere, lest she should sigh again.

The young woman was very pretty in the shawl and cap. But when Bertrand saw her in that guise, he took Auguste aside once more and said:

“Monsieur, she wasn’t dressed like that this afternoon.”

“You will certainly agree, Bertrand, that she looks much better to-night?”

“But, monsieur, what are you thinking about?”

“I am thinking about supper, for I am very hungry;—and you, my dear friend?”

“I too shall be glad to have supper.”

Bertrand said nothing more; but he went into a corner and beat his head against the wall. In due time the supper was brought; Auguste went to the table with Adèle, and urged Bertrand to sit with them, explaining to the young woman that he was his factotum, his cashier, and not his servant.

Bertrand made a wry face at the word cashier; but he decided at last to seat himself respectfully at the other end of the table. To put him in good humor, Auguste ordered several bottles of good wine. The ruse was successful. By dint of drinking, Bertrand recovered his spirits and no longer looked askance at the young woman.

But when, after supper, he saw Auguste retire with Madame Florimont to a room in which there was only one bed, he muttered:

“You will certainly be taken for the lady’s husband, monsieur.”

“Faith, Bertrand, it will look very much like it to-night.”

“But afterward?”

“Oh! the most important thing to my mind at this moment, my friend, is to get to bed. Do the same. Good-night; to-morrow it will be light.”

“Yes,” said Bertrand, filling his glass once more, “to-morrow it will be light, and we shall still have this hussy on our hands! It would have been just as well to stay in Paris and let me make breeches with Schtrack.”

And Bertrand fell asleep finishing the bottle.