“Go back to our inn,” said he, “there is still time; the diligence does not start for half an hour. The papers are on the table of the room Bianchon was in; he wants them particularly, for he will be lost without his notes for the lecture.”
“Pray go, Gatien,” said Dinah to her young adorer, with an imperious glance. And the boy thus commanded turned his horse and was off with a loose rein.
“Go quickly to La Baudraye,” cried Lousteau to the coachman. “Madame is not well—Your mother only will know the secret of my trick,” added he, taking his seat by Dinah.
“You call such infamous conduct a trick?” cried Madame de la Baudraye, swallowing down a few tears that dried up with the fire of outraged pride.
She leaned back in the corner of the chaise, crossed her arms, and gazed out at the Loire and the landscape, at anything rather than at Lousteau. The journalist put on his most ingratiating tone, and talked till they reached La Baudraye, where Dinah fled indoors, trying not to be seen by any one. In her agitation she threw herself on a sofa and burst into tears.
“If I am an object of horror to you, of aversion or scorn, I will go,” said Lousteau, who had followed her. And he threw himself at her feet.
It was at this crisis that Madame Piedefer came in, saying to her daughter:
“What is the matter? What has happened?”
“Give your daughter another dress at once,” said the audacious Parisian in the prim old lady’s ear.
Hearing the mad gallop of Gatien’s horse, Madame de la Baudraye fled to her bedroom, followed by her mother.