“But Chérubin, monsieur, tell us about Chérubin! Never mind me. Is he coming, monsieur? Shall we see him soon? Does he think about us? Does he speak of us sometimes?”
“Is he very fat and healthy, and happy, the dear fieu? And when shall we have a chance to embrace him? Why don’t he come to Gagny?”
“Monsieur le marquis is very well indeed,” replied Gérondif, still ogling Louise. “You ask why he doesn’t come to see you? Why, my dear Madame Frimousset, it’s plain that you know nothing of life in Paris, and especially the life led by a young man in fashionable society! My pupil hasn’t a moment to himself: in the morning he fences, rides horseback, dances, sings and boxes; why, he hardly has time for his meals. Then he has to go into society—theatres, concerts, balls! How in the devil do you expect him to find a moment to come to this village? It’s impossible! Even I had infinite difficulty in making the trip to-day; I was obliged to hurry my breakfast, and I don’t like to eat fast.”
“So we shan’t see him any more?” murmured Louise, whose heart had grown heavy again, and whose eyes were filled with tears.
“I do not say that, adorable lass! but I say that you must be sensible and not expect monsieur le marquis to interrupt his important occupations for you.”
“Oh! I don’t expect anything! We’d have gone to Paris again to see him, but they always tell us he’s away.”
“Don’t come to Paris, you will simply waste your time; how do you expect to catch a young man on the wing who has five hundred things to do in the day?”
“Five hundred things! Bless my soul! but the poor boy must get all tired out!”
“As if he went on foot! He’s always in a carriage or on horseback; and he rides at full speed.”
“And he can’t come as far as this!” said Louise, with a profound sigh. “And those lovely ladies who dance so well—he goes to see them, of course?”