Suddenly I heard a voice calling:
“Henriette, Henriette, aren’t you coming?”
“Here I am, mamma,” cried the child. I sprang to my feet, placed her on the ground, kissed her several times, and ran away.
“Why, papa, wait, here comes mamma.”
Those words gave me wings; I reached the wall, I dropped on the other side, then I ran to Pettermann, leaped on my horse, and shouted:
“Gallop! gallop!”
We both urged our horses and were already far away from Aubonne before I dared to turn, for fear of seeing her on the terrace.
XIX
MONT-D’OR
Two years had passed since I left Paris. Accompanied by my faithful Pettermann, I had travelled all over Spain; the memory of Gil Blas made my sojourn there more delightful; I looked for him at the inns, and on the public promenades; and more than once, when a beggar threw his hat at my feet, I looked to see if he were not taking aim at me with a carbine. The scullery maids and the mule drivers reminded me also of Don Quixote and his facetious squire; I would have liked to meet them riding in search of adventures. All honor to the poets who depict their heroes so vividly that one becomes convinced that they have really existed. Gil Blas and Don Quixote are only imaginary characters, and yet we sometimes fancy that we recognize them; we look for them in the country where the author has placed them. They must be very lifelike therefore, those pages of the novelist, since we attribute life to them, and they become engraved in our memories. For my own part, I know that it would be impossible for me to visit the mountains of Scotland without recalling Rob Roy; to visit Mauritius, without talking of Paul and Virginia; and to visit Italy without thinking of Corinne.
I crossed the Pyrenees, but the idea of seeing Switzerland occurred to me, and we left France again. My depression had vanished, I was no longer morose and taciturn as when I left home; Pettermann too had resumed his habit of singing. We had travelled on horseback for some time; then I sold our steeds and we went through a large part of Andalusia on foot; after that, public conveyances or hired post-chaises carried us to other places. It was by diversifying thus our random journeyings, that I triumphed over the trouble that was consuming me; and it was not an easy matter. In truth, there was still a tinge of bitterness in my smile, and I concluded that that was something of which I could never rid myself.