Virginie was overjoyed by the incident; she joked Auguste about his neighbor’s fidelity, and he tried to laugh with her, although at heart he was not over-pleased that he had allowed himself to be hoodwinked. They finished their dinner at last and were about to leave their room and the Tournebride, when they heard loud voices, and recognized those of the inn-keeper and of Madame Saint-Edmond.
“Madame,” said the former, “you can’t go away like this; I must be paid for my dinner.”
“Monsieur,” replied Madame de Saint-Edmond, imparting a moving intonation to her voice, “I am very sorry, but you must believe that I had no intention——”
“I see, madame, that you have an intention to go away; your friend went off like a shot just now; who is to pay me for my dinner, I should like to know?”
“But, monsieur,” rejoined Léonie, and her voice became a little less pathetic, “after all, we didn’t dine; so we don’t owe you anything.”
“What’s that? you don’t owe anything, madame! When a dinner’s ordered, and such care taken with it as with this one, do you think it isn’t to be paid for? Do you propose to leave your fillets and sweetbreads on my hands? It isn’t my fault that you don’t choose to eat.”
“You can give them to some other party, monsieur.”
“You had a bottle of old macon when you got here; and there’s the soup wasted, and the broken tureen.”
“That’s none of my affair, monsieur.”
“Your dinner’s your affair, madame; eat it and pay for it.”