"Ah! poor Louis.... But what can you expect. We are all mortal, and it is well to look upon this life as a voyage which leads us to port.... Pardon, friend, it seems to me we are passing Boulogne."
Bougainville looked at his watch.
"Bah!" said he, "what does it matter! It is only half-past eleven, and consequently you have still a good twenty minutes before you.—Faster, postillion!"
"Why faster?"
"Because you are in a hurry, my friend."
"Bougainville!..."
"What! does not the wish to know what I have been doing outweigh your fear of upsetting Marianne by being five minutes late?... That is a queer sort of friendship, to be sure!"
"You are right, upon my word; five minutes more or less.... Tell me about yourself, my dear Antoine. Besides, when I tell Marianne that it was for you and through you I am late, she will stop scolding."
"Marianne knows me, then?"