While they talked, Auguste and his companion had strayed into the shaded portion of the garden. He had taken the young woman’s arm and was pressing it tenderly. Athalie was still laughing, but was making no effort to avoid Dalville’s gentle caresses, when Bertrand appeared before them at a bend in the path.
“They are waiting for you and madame at breakfast, lieutenant,” said the corporal, putting the back of his hand to his forehead.
Auguste stamped on the ground impatiently; but the vivacious Athalie had already dropped his arm and was frisking away.
“Parbleu! you are exceedingly awkward, Bertrand!” said Auguste, glaring at the corporal, who still stood before him.
“What have I done, lieutenant?”
“You seem to have made it your business to disturb me when I am engaged in an interesting conversation with a pretty woman.”
“Excuse me, lieutenant, but I can’t tell what you’re saying.”
“A shrewd man can guess it at a glance. Once for all, when I am alone with a woman, I forbid you to interrupt me.”
“That settles it, lieutenant; if the house should burn down, I wouldn’t disturb you.”
The whole party had assembled in the dining-room; even La Thomassinière, having waked with a tremendous appetite, had not devised any previous business which would have vexed his stomach, and he bestowed a most affable nod upon Dalville, which meant that his wife had informed him that she proposed to receive the young man at their house. Madame Destival too seemed desirous to be reconciled to Auguste, who had treated her coldly since the scene in the courtyard.