"Bah! what an ass the man is with his great Turenne! Does he take me for a sentry-box? I don't know ancient history, Bertrand; I don't care about anything except my own time, and I tell you Auguste's a rake. In the first place, he played me a shameful trick three weeks ago. Think of it! he made an appointment with me, and we were to pass the day together and go to Feydeau in the evening; and monsieur left me to cool my heels and went off into the country, to his Monsieur Destival, business agent. He's another fox, that fellow! He'd better attend to what goes on in his own house, eh, Bertrand?" "In his own house, mademoiselle? Do you mean----" "Yes, you understand well enough! That is, unless he likes it. Bless my soul! there are husbands whom that sort of thing just suits! Did you spend the night at that place?" "Yes, mademoiselle." "Mon Dieu! how rural! Did you stay there several days? Come, Bertrand, speak out--you have time enough to eat; you know that I haven't set foot inside this door for an age, and Monsieur Auguste hasn't so much as had the decency to come to inquire for my health. And yet I've been very ill; I nearly died! I am ever so much changed, am I not, Bertrand?" "Why, no, mademoiselle, I don't see that----" "Oh, yes! the whites of my eyes are yellow yet. To be sure this dress isn't becoming. It's too high, it cramps me.--Well, Bertrand, what did you do in the country?" "I taught Monsieur Destival the manual, mademoiselle." "Oho! is he going to enlist in the voltigeurs? How about his wife--does she do the manual too? She ought to learn to drum so that she can march in front of her husband when he goes out to fire his gun." "I don't know what madame was doing, mademoiselle." "Of course not; it was your business to keep the husband busy, while Monsieur Auguste dallied with madame in the thick shrubbery! I can see that man firing at crows while his wife hunts strawberries! Ha! ha!" Mademoiselle Virginie laughed so heartily that it was several minutes before she could speak again. Meanwhile Bertrand paced the salon floor, continuing his breakfast. "Oh dear! it hurts to laugh like that.--Tell me, Bertrand, when did you come back?" "The next day, mademoiselle." "And Auguste hasn't been there again since?" "No, mademoiselle; he's often wanted to go, but he hasn't had time." "Oh! of course not; he has so much to do! And he hasn't been to see me once in the last fortnight! He leaves me sick, almost dying! And I am not well yet. Oh, no! I am still suffering terribly.--What's that you're eating, Bertrand?" "Just plain Roquefort cheese, mademoiselle." "It's queer to watch another person eat; it makes me want to eat too; you see, I always have to do what I see others do. You may as well give me some breakfast, my little Bertrand, because, you see, if I should whine and cry till to-morrow, it's all nonsense, and my calf wouldn't be any bigger for that; would it, Bertrand?" "Mademoiselle, if you----"