He rose to his feet in the carriage and cast a look round him as far as his sight could reach, but there was no sign of even the smallest sort of vehicle.
"Never mind," he said, "I will walk."
"You shall not walk!" said Bougainville.
"What! you will not let me walk?"
"No, it shall not be said that you caught pleurisy because you took a drive with a friend."
"I will go quietly."
"Oh, I know you! You would be afraid of being scolded by Mademoiselle Marianne, you would hurry your pace, arrive in a state of perspiration, drink cold water and give yourself inflammation of the lungs.... Some idiot of a doctor would purge you instead of bleeding, or bleed you instead of purging; and, three days later, Good-bye, there would be the end to the Abbé Rémy!"
"All the same I must return to Boulogne.... Hi! postillion! postillion! Stop!..."
The carriage, with its fresh horses, set off at a quick trot.