“It would certainly be good fun to stay at table for a whole week; but there’s always some pretty face at a wedding party, and I musn’t expose my lieutenant to the risk of running off with another woman, for I shan’t always have the good fortune to fall in with a leather merchant.”
Nothing more was said, and the carriole crawled on. In four hours they made but one league. At the end of that time, Père Rondin, who was fond of talking, said to Auguste:
“If you’re going to Italy on business, it’s safe to say you won’t get there in time. Be you an attorney?”
“No, I am a painter and a musician.”
“A painter and a musician! Jarni! that’s just what we want! you could play for our girls to dance, and paint a picture of the bride! That would be a nice surprise for Eustache!”
“Parbleu!” thought Auguste, “it would be funny enough if I should make the first trial of my talents on these good people!—What do you say, Bertrand? I rather like the idea of painting the bride’s portrait.”
“You see, Cadet wrote me as how she’s a fine figure of a girl,” said Père Rondin. “Be you good at catching resemblances?”
“Why, I haven’t tried anything else as yet. However, I’ll paint whatever you wish.—Come, Bertrand, this decides me. We’ll go to the wedding.”
“The wedding it is, monsieur. But for God’s sake, don’t do anything foolish, but remember your resolutions.”
“Never fear, you will be satisfied with me.”