As she spoke, Virginie rose too, and planted herself in front of the door.
“I assure you, my dear love, that I do need to go down,” said Auguste, gently taking Virginie’s arm in order to put her away from the door.
“My good fellow, I don’t care what happens, but you shall not leave this room.”
Auguste, laughing all the while, succeeded in removing Virginie from the position she was determined to defend. She flew into a rage; the door was partly open and Auguste attempted to go out; but she caught him by his coat tails and the struggle began anew. At last, Virginie’s strength being exhausted, she suddenly released her hold. Auguste plunged into the corridor, and collided with the waiter who was bringing his neighbors their soup, splashed the julienne against the wall, hurled the tureen to the floor, and caused him who carried it to stumble and stagger.
At the outcry emitted by the waiter and the crash of the soup-tureen, the two persons in the other room, divining that it was their dinner that had come to grief, instantly opened their door, and Auguste, who was still in the hall, saw Madame de Saint-Edmond, and the little man whom she held in horror.
At first Léonie’s glance did not fall on Auguste; she saw nobody but the waiter, who was picking up the fragments of the tureen, exclaiming: “That’s too bad! luckily no one’s hurt.”
But Auguste suddenly appeared at the door of the room and bowed to Léonie.
“I am distressed, madame, to have upset your soup.”
Léonie raised her eyes, gave a shriek, and fainted. That was the best thing that she could do under the circumstances. The little man, who also had recognized Dalville, and who was afraid of being challenged to fight a duel, leaped over the stooping waiter, and rushing down the stairs four at a time, left the Tournebride and plunged into the woods, without casting a glance behind. Virginie, who had left her room, exclaimed in surprise when she recognized Auguste’s neighbor in the unconscious woman; and the waiter, thinking that everybody was shouting because of the soup, kept repeating:
“It’s nothing, messieurs, mesdames; don’t get excited; there’s more downstairs; we always have plenty of julienne.”