“Saddle my horse, Bertrand, and saddle the cabriolet horse for yourself; make haste.”
“Why, where are we going, monsieur?”
“To Montfermeil, to see Denise.”
“What! when you just said——”
“I have reflected that there’s no danger for her, because she doesn’t love me.”
“Do you think not, monsieur?”
“She told me so many times. But I want to see Coco, my little protégé, poor child. I really long to hug the little fellow. You will see how pretty he is, Bertrand—and such vile relations!—Put some money in your pocket, Bertrand.”
“Oh! as much as you choose, lieutenant, to relieve the unfortunate, to help an orphan; one never regrets such things, and it gives one a hundred times more pleasure than paying for the brunette’s hangings and the blonde’s shawls.”
The horses were saddled; Auguste and Bertrand mounted, and started for Montfermeil about ten o’clock in the morning. At eleven they had passed Raincy; a little later they reached Livry, turned to the right, and soon saw the village of Montfermeil before them.
Bertrand was drenched with perspiration; he was not used to riding hard, as Dalville was; and although it was September, it was still exceedingly warm. Bertrand drew rein, observing to Auguste that their steeds needed a breathing-space; but, thinking that he recognized the path by which Coco had taken him to his cabin, Auguste urged his horse forward, calling to Bertrand: