“I will pay it, lieutenant.”
Auguste went out singing, and Bertrand went down to his friend Schtrack’s, to question his wife.
Bertrand paid the note and Léonie was more loving than ever with Auguste. But one morning, when she did not expect him, Dalville found in his neighbor’s room a little man, who instantly took his leave with a very low bow, which Madame Saint-Edmond barely acknowledged, dismissing her gentleman in a very curt tone.
“Who is that man?” Auguste inquired when the stranger had gone.
“Mon Dieu! that is a very ridiculous individual, whom one of my aunts sent to me. He is fresh from the provinces and is seeking employment. But, as he is a terrible bore to me, I receive him in such fashion that he soon brings his visits to an end. He’s as stupid as he is ugly.”
“Why, he didn’t strike me as being so very ugly.”
“Bah! how did you look at him? He is horrible! A hideous nose and sunken eyes, and such an awkward, ridiculous figure! Oh! I can’t endure the man.”
Auguste pushed his questions no farther and said no more about the little man; but he was secretly vexed to hear her speak so ill of him, because he knew the tactics of ladies of her stamp, who often employ that method to conceal their intimacy with a person.
On returning to his own rooms, Auguste noticed that Bertrand looked at him with a sly expression, and hovered about him as if he were seeking an opportunity to speak to him.
“You want to tell me or ask me something, I see, Bertrand,” said Auguste, stopping in front of the corporal. “Speak, for heaven’s sake, instead of prowling about me in this way. You have no comprehension, my old friend, of the little wiles of the ladies, who, when they have anything to say to us, have the art to force us to question them.”