“Oh! but I won’t leave you, my friend.”
“But suppose I should return to Paris?”
“I would go there.”
“But what about your husband, who beat you?”
“Oh! I wouldn’t tell him that I had returned.”
“I see that I shan’t be able to get rid of this woman!” said Auguste to himself. “Infernal diligence! That great hood, those knees against mine, that night on the road—all those things go to one’s head. You imagine that you have made a glorious conquest; you fancy yourself in love, and for twenty-four hours you are! But after that! Mon Dieu! what a mess I have got into!”
Bertrand, who had overheard a part of the conversation between Adèle and Auguste, leaned over to the latter and said in his ear:
“I beg pardon, lieutenant, but this woman seems to me as stupid as a pot.”
“So she seems to me, Bertrand.”
“Are we going round the world with a doll like that?”