“It was the map of the district of Chatellerault, a very correct and minute map, that my aunt had gone herself to the military station to buy, with the view of convincing me that I ought to marry Mme. de Noriolis.  The places of Noriolis and of La Roche-Targe were scarcely three kilometers apart in that map.  My aunt, with her own hands, had drawn a line of red ink, and slily united the two places, and she forced me to look at her little red line, saying to me, ’Two thousand acres without a break, when the places of Noriolis and La Roche-Targe are united; what a chance for a hunter!’

“I closed my eyes, so strong was the temptation, and repeated my refrain, ‘I don’t want to marry.’  But I was afraid, seriously afraid; and when I met Mme. de Noriolis I always saw her surrounded, as by a halo, by the little red line of my aunt, and I said to myself:  ’A charming, and clever, and sensible woman, whose first husband was an idiot, and this and that, and two thousand acres without a break.  Run away, wretch, run away, since you don’t wish to marry.’

“And I ran away!  But this time by what means could I run away?  I was there, miserable, in the grass, covered with sand, with my hair in disorder, my clothes in rags, and my unfortunate leg stiff.  And Mme. de Noriolis came nearer, looking spick and span—­always in the halo of the little red line—­and said to me: 

“’You, M. de La Roche-Targe, is it you?  What are you doing there?  What has happened to you?’

“I frankly confessed my fall.

“‘At least you are not wounded?’

“’No, no, I’m not wounded.  I’ve something the matter with that leg; but it’s nothing serious, I know.’

“‘And what horse played you that trick?’

“‘Why, this one.’

“And I pointed out Brutus to Mme. de Noriolis.  Brutus was there, quite near us, untied, peacefully crunching little tufts of broom.

“’What, that one, that brave horse?  Oh, he has well made up for his faults, I assure you.  I will tell you about it, but later on.  You must first get home, and at once.’

“‘I can’t walk a step.’

“’But I am going to take you back myself, at the risk of compromising you.’

“And she called Bob, her little groom, and taking me gently by the arm, while Bob took me by the other, she made me get into her carriage; five minutes later we were bowling off, both of us, in the direction of La Roche-Targe:  she, holding the reins and driving the pony with a light hand; I, looking at her, feeling troubled, confused, embarrassed, ridiculous, and stupid.  We were alone in the carriage.  Bob was commissioned to bring Brutus, who, very docile, had allowed himself to be taken.

“‘Lie down,’ Mme. de Noriolis said to me; ’keep your leg straight; I am going to drive you slowly so as to avoid bumps.’

“In short, she made a lot of little amiable and pleasant remarks; then, when she saw me well settled, she said: