Dining together, they became more and more friendly. At first Auguste seated himself opposite the young lady; but he reflected that they were much nearer than that in the diligence, and that it was, to say the least, unusual for two persons to keep at a respectful distance, tête-à-tête in a private dining-room, when they have pressed each other's knees before witnesses. So he took his seat beside the young lady, who sighed from time to time, but did not repulse the young man, who seemed most anxious to console her. He tenderly squeezed a very soft hand, expressing great surprise that a husband could be so brutal as to hurt such a charming woman. "Men are cruel," said the young woman, who continued to keep her eyes on the floor. "They are tyrants," rejoined Auguste, pressing her plump hand to his lips. "They cause all our misery!" added the young woman, as she allowed her companion to kiss her. "Ah! they cause something very different!" cried Auguste, throwing his arms about her. "They do! they do!" whispered the young woman, apparently no longer conscious what they do or what she did; but after several meagre repasts, it was no wonder that the wine of the comet year caused her to lose her head. On recovering his wits, Auguste said: "By the way--the diligence?" "Oh! that's so--the diligence!" echoed the young woman, heaving a sigh, presumably from habit. "I am inclined to think, my dear love, that it is high time to return to it." "Very well! let us return, my friend." As you see, the wine of the comet had established most friendly relations between the travellers. But as a general rule, affairs that are negotiated in diligences are speedily consummated. Auguste summoned the keeper of the restaurant and paid for the dinner. The young lady replaced her hood, which was no longer on her head, I know not why. Then they left the private room and walked back, arm-in-arm, toward the inn where they had left the diligence. As they walked Auguste talked with his companion, who seemed to him to have a very sweet disposition, but whose wit did not respond to the idea suggested by her decidedly expressive countenance. There are women whose wit is all in their eyes, and with them one must content oneself with pantomime. As they approached the inn Auguste espied Bertrand, striding back and forth in front of the establishment, looking to right and left with gestures of impatience, and swearing energetically from time to time. When he caught sight of Auguste, he ran to meet him and made a horrible wry face at the young woman who was hanging on his master's arm. "Here you are at last, monsieur! Sacrebleu! I thought that you'd left me here to chase the swallows!" "Don't get excited, Bertrand, I am here. I am not lost, you see. Well, when do we start?" "Start! start for where, monsieur?" "Why, for Lyon, of course!" "And is that why you let the diligence go--that you made me wait and call you and look everywhere for you?"