“Then we will consider how we will continue our journey—whether by some chance conveyance, by stage—or even on foot, so that we can admire the country in case it is worthy of admiration.”
“Whatever will gratify you, my friend.”
“You see, Bertrand,” said Auguste in an undertone, “this little woman is good-nature itself, she seeks only to gratify me.”
“She doesn’t gratify me in the very least, monsieur.”
“Because you don’t choose to be gratified.—By the way, as we are to stay here,” continued Auguste, “we will take rooms at this inn. Bertrand, see that rooms are prepared for us.”
“Yes, monsieur;—and for madame, too?”
“That goes without saying.—By the way, as we are under the necessity of economizing, one room will be enough for madame and myself. Isn’t that so, my dear love?”
“Mon Dieu! yes, if that will gratify you.”
“By the way, my dear love, you haven’t yet told me your name.”
“My name is Adèle—or Madame Florimont, as you please.”