Happily, for some unobvious reason, no one seemed to associate me with the bullocks' waywardness, but it took me ten minutes' cajolery to elicit the address of a peasant who might hire me a cart.
At last I was told his lodging and pointed the way.
Such direction proved supererogatory, first, because we all moved off together, and, secondly, because it subsequently transpired that the gentleman whom I was seeking was already present. But that is France.
Upon arrival at his house my friend stepped out of the ruck and, with the utmost composure, asked if it was true that I was desiring to be driven to Argelès. Controlling my indignation, I replied with equal gravity that such was my urgent ambition. Taking a wrist-watch from my pocket, I added that upon reaching a garage at Argelès, I would deduct the time we had taken from half an hour and cheerfully give him a franc for every minute that was left.
I can only suppose that so novel a method of payment aroused his suspicion.
Be that as it may, with an apologetic bow, the fellow requested to see the colour of my money.
Then and then only did I remember that I had not a brass farthing upon my person.
What was worse, I felt pretty sure that Adèle and Berry were equally penniless…
My exit from that village I try to forget.
I found that the waters of humiliation were deeper than I could have believed. They seemed, in fact, bottomless.