But, at last, the thought of his own plight brought him back to his natural frame of mind. He sold his jacket and hat to a second-hand dealer, and for a few crowns obtained a more fitting costume; then he started for Lyon, whence he proposed to return to Paris, in the hope of finding his former travelling companions.
XIX
ILLUSIONS OF THE HEART.—INCONSTANCY AND LOYALTY
The post chaise which bore Frédéric Parisward went like the wind. The Comte de Montreville was in haste to deaden the intensity of his son's memories, and seemed impatient to arrive at the capital.
They exchanged very few words: Frédéric thought exclusively of Sister Anne, his father of the best means of bringing his son to his senses, and Ménard of all the lies the false Polish baron had told him.
The count did not address a word of reproach to Frédéric; he seemed to have forgotten all his grounds of dissatisfaction; and Ménard, who was mortally afraid of Monsieur de Montreville's stern glance, because he realized that his conduct had been far from exemplary, began to breathe more freely, and ventured to hold up his head.
They arrived at Paris. Before Ménard took leave of the count, Frédéric found an opportunity to speak with him in private, and asked him about Dubourg. Ménard did not answer for a moment; he bit his lips, as if he were not quite sure whether he ought to take offence, and said at last, with what he intended for a sly look:
"Is it Monsieur le Baron Potoski that you wish to know about?"
"Potoski, Dubourg—call him what you please."
"Faith! monsieur, I might well call him rather impertinent, considering all the fables he told me. The idea of claiming to be a palatine——"
"Come, come, my dear Ménard, forget all that."