When she saw the peasant girl coming from Dalville’s apartment, Madame Saint-Edmond stopped, looked at her with a sneer, and said to her companion:
“Ah! rather a queer rig; but she has come here to be educated, no doubt.”
“What’s that, what does she say?” cried Virginie, who was following Denise, and had overheard Léonie’s last words; but the latter hurried upstairs.
“I don’t know,” said Denise; “I never saw the lady before, so she couldn’t have been speaking to me.”
“Oh! I know her,” said Virginie, running up a few stairs and looking after Léonie. “Oh, yes! I know her. I don’t advise her to put on airs. We won’t go to the forest again without paying for our dinner.”
But Madame Saint-Edmond had already entered her room and closed her door. Virginie left the house with Denise, to whom she had taken a fancy; and she fairly forced her to take her arm for the walk to the stage office.
Denise was depressed and replied briefly to the innumerable questions which Virginie asked her; but she was perfectly well able to carry on a conversation all alone. When they arrived at the office, the stage was ready to start. Virginie kissed Denise and said to her:
“Adieu, my dear! Don’t be downcast like this. You’re very lucky to live in the country; it’s a thousand times better than this rascally Paris! You’ll find more lovers in your village than you want. I say! is that the stage? It’s a regular little chamber-pot like the one that goes to Saint-Denis. When I have time, I’ll come and see you, and you must teach me how to make butter. Adieu, my dear girl.—Be careful, driver, and don’t get upset; remember that you have a Love in your little pot.”
Denise and Coco started for home less cheerful than when they set out. The event often falsifies our hopes, and we find pain where we had thought to find pleasure.