“This,” said he to himself, as he sat down on one of the rocks that command the fine landscape of Bouron, “is the fatal spot where Napoleon dreamed of making a final tremendous effort on the eve of his abdication.”
At daybreak he heard the approach of post-horses and saw a britska drive past, in which sat the servants of the Duchesse de Lenoncourt-Chaulieu and Clotilde de Grandlieu’s maid.
“Here they are!” thought Lucien. “Now, to play the farce well, and I shall be saved!—the Duc de Grandlieu’s son-in-law in spite of him!”
It was an hour later when he heard the peculiar sound made by a superior traveling carriage, as the berline came near in which two ladies were sitting. They had given orders that the drag should be put on for the hill down to Bouron, and the man-servant behind the carriage had it stopped.
At this instant Lucien came forward.
“Clotilde!” said he, tapping on the window.
“No,” said the young Duchess to her friend, “he shall not get into the carriage, and we will not be alone with him, my dear. Speak to him for the last time—to that I consent; but on the road, where we will walk on, and where Baptiste can escort us.—The morning is fine, we are well wrapped up, and have no fear of the cold. The carriage can follow.”
The two women got out.
“Baptiste,” said the Duchess, “the post-boy can follow slowly; we want to walk a little way. You must keep near us.”
Madeleine de Mortsauf took Clotilde by the arm and allowed Lucien to talk. They thus walked on as far as the village of Grez. It was now eight o’clock, and there Clotilde dismissed Lucien.