In her indignation she leaned so far out of the window that certainly but for the intervention of kind-hearted persons in the carriage, who clung to her skirts, a grievous accident might have been feared.
"Be careful, Virginie, you will get yourself run over," shouted M. Hilaire, who, cherishing no ill-will against her, advised her to reserve herself for a less violent end.
"Would you like a plum, Madame?" asked Mdlle. Zoé, holding out a bag on which the poor lady could discern quite plainly the name and superscription of the "up-to-date grocery stores."
"Ladies . . . Gentlemen . . . That's my husband. . . . My husband with my shop-girl! . . . They're gallows-birds!"
This last imputation greatly ruffled M. Hilaire, who slackened his pace, while Mdlle. Zoé rapped out as the train sped past them:
"Enjoy yourself, old dear!"
"Now we can go back to Nice," said Hilaire. "She's sure not to be there! But when she does return I shall get it hot."
The prospect of Madame Hilaire's reappearance damped his enthusiasm, and he suddenly fell into a state of despondency. He remembered in his dejection the explicit injunctions which both M. de Saynthine and Chéri-Bibi had given hem. He swore like a trooper and put on full speed.
"You look quite upset all of a sudden," said Zoé. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I'm late."