“Brutus got farther and farther away, and disappeared; I remained alone.  I was puzzled, positively puzzled.  I shook off the little coating of dust which covered me, and without getting up, by the help of my two arms and right leg—­to move my left leg was not to be thought of—­I succeeded in dragging myself to a little grassy slope on the edge of one of the alleys.  Once there, I could sit down, after a fashion, and I began to shout with all the strength of my lungs, ’Hi, there! hi! hi, there!’ No answer.  The woods were absolutely deserted and still.  The only thing to be done was to wait till some one passed by to aid me.

“For half an hour I had been in that hateful position when I perceived in the distance, at the very end of the same alley by which he had gone off, Brutus coming back, with the same long gallop he had used in going.  A great cloud of dust accompanied the horse.  Little by little, in that cloud, I perceived a tiny carriage—­a pony-carriage; then in that little pony-carriage a woman, who drove herself, and behind the woman a small groom.

“A few moments later Brutus, covered with foam, stopped before me, let my hat drop at my feet and neighed, as though to say, ’I’ve done my duty; here is help.’  But I no longer bothered myself about Brutus and the explanations that he made me.  My only thoughts were for the fairy who was to relieve me, and who, after lightly jumping from her little carriage, was coming quickly towards me.  Besides, she, too, was examining me curiously, and all at once we both exclaimed, at the same time: 

“‘Mme. de Noriolis!’

“‘M. de La Roche-Targe!’

“A little while ago George spoke to us of his aunt, and mentioned how she had married him quite young, at one stroke, without giving him time to reflect or breathe.  I, too, have an aunt, and between us for a number of years there has been a perpetual battle.  ‘Marry.’  ’I don’t want to marry.’  ’Do you want young girls?  There is Mademoiselle A, Mademoiselle B, Mademoiselle C.’  ‘I don’t want to marry.’  ’Do you want widows?  There is Madame D, Madame E, Madame F.’  ‘I don’t want to marry.’

“Mme. de Noriolis figured always in the first rank in the series of widows, and I noticed that my aunt put stress, with evident favoritism, on all the good points and advantages that I should find in that marriage.  She didn’t have to tell me that Mme. de Noriolis was very pretty—­any one could see that; or that she was very rich—­I knew it already.  But she explained to me that M. de Noriolis was an idiot, who had had the merit of making his wife perfectly miserable, and that thus it would be very easy for the second husband to make himself very much loved.

“Then, when she had discoursed at length on the virtues, graces, and merits of Mme. de Noriolis, my aunt, who is clever and knows my weakness, pulled out of her desk a topographical map, and spread it out with care on the table.