"Take monsieur and madame to the unoccupied room on the first floor."

A waiter, who was no longer young, but who smiled all the time, escorted the newcomers to a room that looked on the forest.

"Why not give us the room opposite?" asked Virginie; "the outlook is better, we can see the road."

"There is somebody there, madame--a party."

"In that case, let us stay here," said Auguste.

The waiter laid the table, then left the room, saying:

"I will go and see to the dinner; if monsieur wants anything before it is ready, he can call."

That meant that he would not come up unless he was called. Such people are almost as cunning in the country as in Paris.

Auguste did not call for some time, because they felt that they must rest before dinner, and moreover the private rooms of the Tournebride made Mademoiselle Virginie very romantic; at all events, that is what she told Auguste, laughing like a madcap, which, by the way, is not romantic; but Mademoiselle Virginie had a way of her own of being romantic.

At last the stomach made itself heard; and in face of that domineering master, all illusions vanish. The most romantic of mortals, standing in rapt admiration before a rushing torrent or a waterfall, is compelled to make an end when the dinner-bell rings. Virginie and Auguste were admiring neither a torrent nor a waterfall; I am not certain that they were absorbed in admiration of anything; but I know that they opened their door and beat a tattoo upon it with knife handles--a method of attracting attention which makes bells unnecessary.

The waiter brought up the dinner, to which they did justice; the beefsteak and kidneys were in truth delicious, and they had no ground for complaint. While the waiter was present, Mademoiselle Virginie, who was reasonably curious, expressed surprise that the party opposite should be so silent that they did not hear voices, whereas, ordinarily, the guests at country restaurants are very noisy. The young woman concluded her remarks by asking the waiter:

"Isn't it a large party?"

The old waiter replied, smiling so as to show the whole of his three remaining teeth:

"It's no larger than yours."

"Oho! a party of two, is it?"

"Yes, madame."

"A man and a woman?"

"Yes, madame."

"They seem to be even more romantic than we are; they have forgotten about dinner."

"Oh! the dinner's all ordered, it's coming up directly. I know their ways; they're regulars."

And the waiter left the room, closing at the same moment his mouth and the door, the latter of which he had been holding ajar.

"You are very inquisitive," said Auguste, "to want to know how many people there are opposite. What difference does it make to us what others say and do?"

"Oh! none at all; but, don't you know, I like to see--it amuses me."

"Let us eat and not worry about our neighbors; that will be the better way."

"It don't interfere with my eating!--Wait! they're opening the door."

And at that moment a man's voice in the corridor called:

"Bring up the dinner, waiter."

"It's the man calling," said Virginie; "he's got a little soprano voice, but the voice don't prove anything at all."

"Will you have some pigeon?"

"Do wait a minute; you're hurrying me too much."

Just then they heard a woman's voice saying:

"My friend, you forgot to order fritters."

Auguste gave a jump when he heard that voice; and Virginie, alarmed by his abrupt movement, asked:

"Well! what's struck you now? Did you swallow a pigeon wing the wrong way?"

"No, nothing's the matter. It was that voice that surprised me; I thought that I recognized----"

"Ah, yes! I understand; it is probably some old flame of monsieur who's in yonder room. Well! what then? Do you think that you ought to think about any other woman when you're with me? That's very polite. Does it make any difference to you who the woman's with? Are you still in love with her? If I knew that you were, I'd go and make a row."

"Why, no; there's no question of love, but it's because----"

"Because, because--You don't know what you're saying. Eat your dinner at once. Why don't you eat?"

"I am not hungry any more."

"Indeed! monsieur has ceased to be hungry since he heard that lady's voice, which has taken away his appet.i.te. How touching! What are you getting up for? Where are you going?"

"I am going downstairs a minute."

"I don't want you to leave the room. You don't need to go downstairs.

You want to see that woman opposite, that's all; but you shan't see her."

As she spoke, Virginie rose too, and planted herself in front of the door.

"I a.s.sure you, my dear love, that I do need to go down," said Auguste, gently taking Virginie's arm in order to put her away from the door.

"My good fellow, I don't care what happens, but you shall not leave this room."

Auguste, laughing all the while, succeeded in removing Virginie from the position she was determined to defend. She flew into a rage; the door was partly open and Auguste attempted to go out; but she caught him by his coat tails and the struggle began anew. At last, Virginie's strength being exhausted, she suddenly released her hold. Auguste plunged into the corridor, and collided with the waiter who was bringing his neighbors their soup, splashed the julienne against the wall, hurled the tureen to the floor, and caused him who carried it to stumble and stagger.

At the outcry emitted by the waiter and the crash of the soup-tureen, the two persons in the other room, divining that it was their dinner that had come to grief, instantly opened their door, and Auguste, who was still in the hall, saw Madame de Saint-Edmond, and the little man whom she held in horror.

At first Leonie's glance did not fall on Auguste; she saw n.o.body but the waiter, who was picking up the fragments of the tureen, exclaiming: "That's too bad! luckily no one's hurt."

But Auguste suddenly appeared at the door of the room and bowed to Leonie.