At that moment Lucas returned; his prediction was realized; there was not a coach on the stand; it was raining in torrents. Time was passing; already it was almost too late to enter the school, where masters and pupils go to bed at nine o’clock.
“Put on thick shoes,” I said to Lucas, “and come with me on foot.”
Instantly I saw his face lengthen. He is no longer young and loves his ease; moreover, he complains every winter of rheumatism. He made various objections,—that it was very late; that we should “revolutionize” the school; I should take cold; Monsieur Armand could not be very ill if he wrote himself; in short, it was clear that my plan of campaign did not suit my old retainer.
Monsieur Dorlange very obligingly offered to go himself in my place and bring me word about Armand; but that did not suit me at all; I felt that I must see for myself. Having thanked him, I said to Lucas in a tone of authority:—
“Get ready at once, for one thing is true in your remarks: it is getting late.”
Seeing himself driven into a corner, Lucas raised the standard of revolt.
“It is not possible that madame should go out in such weather; and I don’t want monsieur to scold me for giving in to such a singular idea.”
“Then you do not intend to obey me?”
“Madame knows very well that for anything reasonable I would do what she told me if I had to go through fire to obey her.”
“Heat is good for rheumatism, but rain is not,” I said; then, turning to Monsieur Dorlange, I added: “As you were so kind as to offer to do this errand alone, may I ask you to give me your arm and come with me?”