Madame Moreau sighed.
"Where is she now?" was his thought.
The diligence was rolling along the road, and, wrapped up in the shawl, no doubt, she was leaning against the cloth of the coupé, her beautiful head nodding asleep.
He and his mother were just going up to their apartments when a waiter from the Swan of the Cross brought him a note.
"What is that, pray?"
"It is Deslauriers, who wants me," said he.
"Ha! your chum!" said Madame Moreau, with a contemptuous sneer. "Certainly it is a nice hour to select!"
Frederick hesitated. But friendship was stronger. He got his hat.
"At any rate, don't be long!" said his mother to him.