“Ah! they cause something very different!” cried Auguste, throwing his arms about her.
“They do! they do!” whispered the young woman, apparently no longer conscious what they do or what she did; but after several meagre repasts, it was no wonder that the wine of the comet year caused her to lose her head.
On recovering his wits, Auguste said:
“By the way—the diligence?”
“Oh! that’s so—the diligence!” echoed the young woman, heaving a sigh, presumably from habit.
“I am inclined to think, my dear love, that it is high time to return to it.”
“Very well! let us return, my friend.”
As you see, the wine of the comet had established most friendly relations between the travellers. But as a general rule, affairs that are negotiated in diligences are speedily consummated.
Auguste summoned the keeper of the restaurant and paid for the dinner. The young lady replaced her hood, which was no longer on her head, I know not why. Then they left the private room and walked back, arm-in-arm, toward the inn where they had left the diligence.
As they walked Auguste talked with his companion, who seemed to him to have a very sweet disposition, but whose wit did not respond to the idea suggested by her decidedly expressive countenance. There are women whose wit is all in their eyes, and with them one must content oneself with pantomime.