“It no longer seems so amusing to me,” said Auguste; while Bertrand walked away, and muttered with an oath, stamping the ground:
“Her dear friend! Ten thousand bayonets! this is a very pretty mess!”
“But couldn’t they have waited a little while for us, Bertrand?” asked Auguste.
“They waited two minutes, monsieur, and that’s a long time for a diligence.”
“And you didn’t go?”
“Do you suppose that I would go without you? Ain’t I attached to you, and to nobody else? What’s the sense of my being at Lyon if you ain’t there?”
“You did well, Bertrand. And our valises?”
“Oh! they’re here. As I had a shrewd idea that there was something new, I wouldn’t let them go without us.”
“Bless my soul, my friend, we must make the best of this accident. After all, it matters not whether we go to Lyon or somewhere else; and whether we arrive there to-morrow or a week hence.”
“Mon Dieu! my dear friend, it’s a matter of indifference to me too,” said the young woman.