“Then you will give me a seat?” said Philippe.
“With the greatest pleasure;” and they walked together to the carriage, and getting in, set off for the Champs Elysées.
First, however, Charny wrote a few words on his tablets, and gave them to the footman to take to his hotel.
In less than half an hour they reached the Bois de Boulogne. The weather was lovely, and the air delightful, although the power of the sun was already felt: the fresh leaves were appearing on the trees, and the violets filled the place with their perfume.
“It is a fine day for our promenade, is it not, M. de Taverney?” said Charny.
“Beautiful, sir.”
“You may go,” said Charny to his coachman.
“Are you not wrong, sir, to send away your carriage?—one of us may need it.”
“No, sir,” replied Charny; “in this affair secrecy before everything, and once in the knowledge of a servant, we risk it being talked of all over Paris to-morrow.”
“As you please, but do you think the fellow does not know what he came here for? These people know well what brings two gentlemen to the Bois de Boulogne, and even if he did not feel sure now, he will perhaps afterwards see one of us wounded, and will have no doubts left then. Is it not then better to keep him here to take back either who shall need him, than to be left, or leave me here, wounded and alone?”