Georget burst into sobs. Chicotin twisted his face and mouth, and did his utmost not to weep with his friend. Monsieur de Brevanne, who was deeply moved himself, tapped Chicotin on the shoulder, saying to him: "You are a fine fellow; I shall not forget it." Chicotin took off his hat and passed the back of his hand over his nose and eyes. "And you, Georget," continued the count, "you are very angry with me, aren't you? But your young friend Violette has made her peace with me; won't you do as she has done?" "Violette! monsieur has seen Violette? Is it possible?" "Yes, my dear boy, and to-day isn't the first time that I have tried to express to her my regret for what had taken place. On the very next day after her unfortunate journey, I went to Paris expressly to see her; but she was not in her place; you must have noticed that I went to Paris several days in succession." "That is true, monsieur." "It was always in the hope of meeting Violette; but I did not find her." "Because she was sick, monsieur," cried Chicotin; "because she was confined to her bed with fever." "I know it, my boy; she told me all that just now; but she is in her place to-day; and now she is not angry with me any more, and she hopes that you will not be angry with her, Georget; for I told her that you would go to see her; did I do right?" Georget, who passed as quickly from wrath to affection as from sadness to joy, seized Monsieur de Brevanne's hand and squeezed it violently, crying: "I was wrong to think that you were unkind, I ought to have known that it was impossible. Oh! let me go at once to see her, monsieur, to ask her pardon for thinking her guilty, to tell her that I have never ceased to love her." "To-day? Why, it is quite late." "It is only four o'clock, monsieur, and at six I shall be in Paris; at ten o'clock I will be back again. You will let me go, won't you, monsieur?" "As I made you unhappy, I must make up for it." "Ah, monsieur!" "Go; I will tell your mother that I sent you to Paris on an errand; do not come back until to-morrow morning in order not to run the risk of being on the road so late." "Oh! thanks, monsieur, thanks a thousand times!--Come, Chicotin, let us go." "But I haven't had a chance to rest or to eat anything!" muttered the young messenger, making a wry face. "Come, come; I'll treat you to supper." "_Fichtre!_ the bill of fare will have to be long then." "Here, my boy," said the count, putting a twenty-franc piece into Chicotin's hand; "here is something for your supper; I propose to treat you, for Georget is quite capable of starting off without any money." "Thanks, monsieur, we will have a little spree, eh, Georget?--Why, where is he? Out on the road already! Bless my soul! he is capable of making me run all the way to Paris." Georget was going at the speed of a Basque; Chicotin succeeded in overtaking him, however, and said as he trotted along beside him: