He darted back to Mme. Gougasse, alive with gaiety.
“Chère amie, if you were to press monseigneur, I’m sure he would come to Carcassonne and dance at our wedding.”
“Alas! That,” said I, hastily, “is out of the question. But,” I added, amused by a humorous idea, “why should two lovers separate even for a few hours? Why should not madame accompany us to Montpellier? There is room in my auto for three, and it would give me the opportunity of making madame’s better acquaintance.”
“There, Amélie!” cried Aristide. “What do you say?”
“Truly, it is too much honour,” murmured Mme. Gougasse, evidently tempted.
“There’s your luggage, however,” said Aristide. “You would bring that great trunk, for which there is no place in the automobile of monseigneur.”
“That’s true—my luggage.”
“Send it on by train, chère amie.”
“When will it arrive at Carcassonne?”
“Not to-morrow,” said Pujol, “but perhaps next week or the week after. Perhaps it may never come at all. One is never certain with these railway companies. But what does that matter?”