“I’m afraid so, my friend. She has determined never to leave me.”
“I promise you that I will make her change her mind.”
Bertrand said no more. They drove for some time in silence. From time to time the leather dealer cast a furtive, lady-killer’s glance at Madame Florimont, and said to Bertrand whenever they passed through a hamlet or village:
“I once knew a pretty woman here. I had an intrigue here. I set people’s tongues to wagging here.”
“It seems that you’re a sad rake.”
“Oh, yes! I’m well known in this region.”
At nightfall they stopped at a small place where they were to pass the night. They alighted at a wretched inn; the leather dealer went out to attend to some business, and after supper Auguste, thinking that the most sensible course to pursue with the emotional Adèle was to go to bed, withdrew with her, leaving Bertrand with his pipe at a table.
The tradesman returned in due time and Bertrand invited him to drink; he was not the man to decline such an invitation. He was almost as accomplished a drinker as Schtrack; after the second bottle they became confidential and Bertrand said to his companion:
“You look to me like a good fellow.”
“You’re very kind!”