"Come, my dear love," said Auguste, "we must not intrude upon madame any longer; I deeply regret that I frightened her companion away. But doubtless the gentleman is only awaiting our departure, to return; we must not compel him to stay in the kitchen any longer. Let's go and finish our dinner." "Yes, let's go back and eat our omelette soufflée," said Virginie, with a profound curtsy to Léonie, and she returned to her seat at the table in the other room. Auguste was about to do likewise, when Léonie ran to him, raising her eyes to the ceiling, and said in an undertone: "You judge me by appearances; but I swear to you----" "Oh! upon my word, this is too much," cried Auguste; and he angrily slammed the door in Madame Saint-Edmond's face, exclaiming: "Take a woman in the act, and she would still say: 'Don't judge by appearances.'" Virginie was overjoyed by the incident; she joked Auguste about his neighbor's fidelity, and he tried to laugh with her, although at heart he was not over-pleased that he had allowed himself to be hoodwinked. They finished their dinner at last and were about to leave their room and the Tournebride, when they heard loud voices, and recognized those of the inn-keeper and of Madame Saint-Edmond. "Madame," said the former, "you can't go away like this; I must be paid for my dinner." "Monsieur," replied Madame de Saint-Edmond, imparting a moving intonation to her voice, "I am very sorry, but you must believe that I had no intention----" "I see, madame, that you have an intention to go away; your friend went off like a shot just now; who is to pay me for my dinner, I should like to know?" "But, monsieur," rejoined Léonie, and her voice became a little less pathetic, "after all, we didn't dine; so we don't owe you anything." "What's that? you don't owe anything, madame! When a dinner's ordered, and such care taken with it as with this one, do you think it isn't to be paid for? Do you propose to leave your fillets and sweetbreads on my hands? It isn't my fault that you don't choose to eat." "You can give them to some other party, monsieur." "You had a bottle of old macon when you got here; and there's the soup wasted, and the broken tureen." "That's none of my affair, monsieur." "Your dinner's your affair, madame; eat it and pay for it." "I don't feel well, I tell you." "Pay for it then." "But I have no money with me." "You shouldn't have let your friend run off as if he'd seen the devil! A man ought not to leave a woman in a false position! The deuce! decent people don't do that! He must be a nice kind of fellow, to disappear with the money. You shouldn't go into a restaurant when you don't mean to dine." "Monsieur," retorted Madame Saint-Edmond, with an angry ring in her voice, "this isn't the first time we've come here to dinner; do you take us for riff-raff?"