“We will see. I can’t promise beforehand, because I may be invited to other dinners by people high up on the ladder, and you must see——”
“So we are all going to Paris,” said Madame Destival. “My husband will take Baptiste and Julie with him. Will Monsieur Dalville be kind enough to give me a seat in his cabriolet?”
“Why can’t you come in our calèche?” hastily inquired the petite-maîtresse.
“Oh! I am afraid that I should keep you waiting. I have several matters to attend to, and you are in a hurry to see your milliner. Monsieur Dalville will not object, I trust, to give me another half hour.”
Auguste realized that it would be discourteous to refuse; moreover, although that arrangement upset his plans, although the fascinating Athalie made an enticing little pout at him, and although Madame Destival had said many unkind things about him, still, Emilie was a good-looking woman none the less, and one forgives a good-looking woman many things, even when one is no longer in love with her.
They left the table. The carriages were ready. Madame de la Thomassinière entered her calèche, with a malevolent glance at Auguste and Madame Destival. The speculator called his two servants, who assisted him to climb in; then he threw himself back on the seat, crying:
“To my house in the Chaussée-d’Antin, and go at full speed; drive furiously, do you hear, Lafleur? But look out and not run into anything.”
The calèche flew away like an arrow. Madame Destival had hurried her domestics to such purpose that Julie and Baptiste were soon ready to start with their master. But madame still had divers matters to attend to, for which she did not need Julie. Monsieur Destival shook hands cordially with his friend and urged him not to drive his wife too fast, because it was bad for the nerves; then he took his seat in the cabriolet beside Julie, ordering Baptiste to mount behind, which he did, muttering because they made him do all sorts of things.
Bertrand and Tony stood by Dalville’s cabriolet, awaiting the latter and Madame Destival. But the little matters which the mistress of the house had to arrange took nearly two hours. Bertrand fretted and fumed at having to stand beside the cabriolet; but his master had ordered him to await him there, and he did not leave his post.
“Perhaps monsieur thinks we’ve gone,” suggested little Tony.