“Faith, I cannot hesitate.—Monsieur le marquis! What an honor! I will jump out of this window in the rear.”
“But don’t I tell you, monsieur, that I didn’t say I’d meet him——”
La Thomassinière was no longer listening; he had opened a window and jumped out, and was in the garden. At the same moment, Auguste opened the door, and entered the gardener’s abode. When she saw that it was not the marquis, she uttered a cry of surprise; but Auguste whispered to her to keep quiet, and Mademoiselle Tapotte did whatever the young man wished, much preferring a tête-à-tête with him to one with monsieur le marquis.
La Thomassinière walked about under the apricot trees, presuming that the marquis would not remain long with Tapotte; but after half an hour, as his guest did not leave the gardener’s house, our financier decided to go to bed.
“The deuce!” he said to himself; “the marquis seems to have had a long story to tell her. I must try to make my interviews last as long as monsieur le marquis’s.”
The next day the company assembled preparatory to starting for Paris. Athalie was fresher than on the evening before, the marquis less flushed. Auguste seemed fatigued and La Thomassinière’s expression was very sly as he looked at the nobleman. Mademoiselle Tapotte alone was just as usual.
They entered their carriages and left the charming retreat at Fleury. Let us follow their example, and return to Paris.
X
THE INN
To console himself in his master’s absence, Bertrand had sent for the concierge to come up and keep him company. This concierge was an old German named Schtrack, who had come to France to make trousers, and, having found employment as a concierge, passed his time in drinking, smoking, and in beating his wife. He was by no means capable of carrying on a conversation, even with a cook; but he would drink, and listen with imperturbable stolidity to Bertrand’s stories of his campaigns, and to the minute details which the ex-corporal delighted to repeat, often for the twentieth time. Schtrack always seemed to take the same deep interest in them, keeping his eye fixed on the narrator, moving his head or frowning when the battle waxed hot, and emitting a cloud of tobacco smoke and a sacretié! when Bertrand paused for breath.
After assuring themselves that the burgundy was not spoiling, they had subjected the claret and the madeira to the same test. The more Bertrand talked, the thirstier he became; now he must have been exceedingly thirsty, for he had talked steadily from the preceding evening; the two worthies having passed the night doing what they called “tasting the cellar,” and Schtrack having left Bertrand’s side but twice, to administer chastisement after the German style to his wife, who presumed to find fault because her husband did not come down to his lodge.