“I don’t feel well, I tell you.”
“Pay for it then.”
“But I have no money with me.”
“You shouldn’t have let your friend run off as if he’d seen the devil! A man ought not to leave a woman in a false position! The deuce! decent people don’t do that! He must be a nice kind of fellow, to disappear with the money. You shouldn’t go into a restaurant when you don’t mean to dine.”
“Monsieur,” retorted Madame Saint-Edmond, with an angry ring in her voice, “this isn’t the first time we’ve come here to dinner; do you take us for riff-raff?”
“No, madame; of course I know perfectly well who I’m dealing with, but I don’t choose to give credit; a fine dinner like this ought not to be refused when it’s all cooked.”
During this dialogue, Auguste had all the difficulty in keeping Virginie from laughing aloud. At last, moved to pity by the sentimental Léonie’s plight, he went downstairs, followed by Virginie, and said to the landlord, who did not take his eyes from Madame Saint-Edmond:
“As I have the honor to know madame, I beg you to add the amount of her bill to mine, monsieur; I will pay both.”
The host, whose only desire was to be paid, resumed his affable air and made haste to reckon up the two accounts. Meanwhile the pretty blonde sank into a chair, holding her handkerchief to her face.
Auguste having paid, Virginie, whose triumph was complete, took his arm and left the inn with him, saying in a mocking tone: