The coachman turned round.

“Here comes Monsieur Gatien,” said he.

“I love you, I will have you, you shall be mine, for I have never felt for any woman the passion I have for you!” said Lousteau in her ear.

“In spite of my will, perhaps?” said she, with a smile.

“At least you must seem to have been assaulted to save my honor,” said the Parisian, to whom the fatal immaculateness of clean muslin suggested a ridiculous notion.

Before Gatien had reached the end of the bridge, the outrageous journalist had crumpled up Madame de la Baudraye’s muslin dress to such an effect that she was absolutely not presentable.

“Oh, monsieur!” she exclaimed in dignified reproof.

“You defied me,” said the Parisian.

But Gatien now rode up with the vehemence of a duped lover.  To regain a little of Madame de la Baudraye’s esteem, Lousteau did his best to hide the tumbled dress from Gatien’s eyes by leaning out of the chaise to speak to him from Dinah’s side.

“Go back to our inn,” said he, “there is still time; the diligence does not start for half an hour.  The papers are on the table of the room Bianchon was in; he wants them particularly, for he will be lost without his notes for the lecture.”

“Pray go, Gatien,” said Dinah to her young adorer, with an imperious glance.  And the boy thus commanded turned his horse and was off with a loose rein.

“Go quickly to La Baudraye,” cried Lousteau to the coachman.  “Madame is not well—­Your mother only will know the secret of my trick,” added he, taking his seat by Dinah.

“You call such infamous conduct a trick?” cried Madame de la Baudraye, swallowing down a few tears that dried up with the fire of outraged pride.

She leaned back in the corner of the chaise, crossed her arms, and gazed out at the Loire and the landscape, at anything rather than at Lousteau.  The journalist put on his most ingratiating tone, and talked till they reached La Baudraye, where Dinah fled indoors, trying not to be seen by any one.  In her agitation she threw herself on a sofa and burst into tears.

“If I am an object of horror to you, of aversion or scorn, I will go,” said Lousteau, who had followed her.  And he threw himself at her feet.

It was at this crisis that Madame Piedefer came in, saying to her daughter: 

“What is the matter?  What has happened?”

“Give your daughter another dress at once,” said the audacious Parisian in the prim old lady’s ear.

Hearing the mad gallop of Gatien’s horse, Madame de la Baudraye fled to her bedroom, followed by her mother.

“There are no papers at the inn,” said Gatien to Lousteau, who went out to meet him.

“And you found none at the Chateau d’Anzy either?” replied Lousteau.

“You have been making a fool of me,” said Gatien, in a cold, set voice.