Dinah’s coachman hurried up breathlessly to say that the diligence had come in, and they walked on quickly, Madame de la Baudraye between the two men.
“Good-bye, my children!” said Bianchon, before they got into the town, “you have my blessing!”
He released Madame de la Baudraye’s hand from his arm, and allowed Lousteau to draw it into his, with a tender look, as he pressed it to his heart. What a difference to Dinah! Etienne’s arm thrilled her deeply. Bianchon’s had not stirred her in the least. She and the journalist exchanged one of those glowing looks that are more than an avowal.
“Only provincial women wear muslin gowns in these days,” thought Lousteau to himself, “the only stuff which shows every crease. This woman, who has chosen me for her lover, will make a fuss over her frock! If she had but put on a foulard skirt, I should be happy.—What is the meaning of these difficulties——”
While Lousteau was wondering whether Dinah had put on a muslin gown on purpose to protect herself by an insuperable obstacle, Bianchon, with the help of the coachman, was seeing his luggage piled on the diligence. Finally, he came to take leave of Dinah, who was excessively friendly with him.
“Go home, Madame la Baronne, leave me here—Gatien will be coming,” he added in an undertone. “It is getting late,” said he aloud. “Good-bye!”
“Good-bye—great man!” cried Lousteau, shaking hands with Bianchon.
When the journalist and Madame de la Baudraye, side by side in the rickety old chaise, had recrossed the Loire, they both were unready to speak. In these circumstances, the first words that break the silence are full of terrible meaning.
“Do you know how much I love you?” said the journalist point blank.
Victory might gratify Lousteau, but defeat could cause him no grief. This indifference was the secret of his audacity. He took Madame de la Baudraye’s hand as he spoke these decisive words, and pressed it in both his; but Dinah gently released it.