"Here I am, my friend," she said, as she entered the room; and she hung about Auguste with as much embarrassment as she had shown in front of the cookshop. "Here I am; I've been rather long, but--but--it was because I met someone who is much better than a chicken." "You met someone?" "Yes--someone who--someone----" Before Virginie could think of what she wanted to say, Bertrand, unable to contain himself any longer, opened the door, rushed to Auguste, and threw his arms about him, crying: "It was me, sacrebleu! it was me! But I can't stay hidden any longer; I must embrace him!" Bertrand could not make up his mind for some minutes to release his hold of Auguste, and Virginie exclaimed reproachfully: "There! you see! he couldn't wait till I motioned to him; he'll make Auguste worse!" "No," said the convalescent, "no, happiness never does that! My poor fellow! so you have come back!" "And you could believe that I abandoned you!" said Bertrand, taking Auguste's hand. "You doubted the love of your old comrade, your faithful servant!--I admit that my hurried departure must have surprised you; but when you know!" "You are here, Bertrand, and everything is forgotten!" "Oh! listen to me first, and then tell me if I behaved so very badly.--You remember that I left you in the common room of a village tavern where we had just breakfasted. I had just paid our bill when, as I crossed the courtyard, I saw a man whose face attracted my attention, and whom I recognized instantly as our rascal of a Destival." "Destival!" cried Auguste. "The man who robbed you!" said Virginie.