“Excuse me, I have done so.  It is, I know, only meant for one, but she could easily squeeze into it.  I know I am troubling you, but if you were aware of the convenience it would be to me I am sure you would not refuse.  All the places in the diligence are taken up to next week, and if I don’t get to Paris in six days I might as well stay away altogether.  If I were a rich man I would post, but that would cost four hundred francs, and I cannot afford to spend so much.  The only course open to me is to leave by the diligence tomorrow, and to have myself and my daughter bound to the roof.  You see, sir, the idea makes her weep, and I don’t like it much better myself.”

I looked attentively at the girl, and found her too pretty for me to keep within bounds if I travelled alone with her.  I was sad, and the torment I had endured in parting from Marcoline had made me resolve to avoid all occasions which might have similar results.  I thought this resolve necessary for my peace of mind.

“This girl,” I said to myself, “may be so charming that I should fall in love with her if I yield to the father’s request, and I do not wish for any such result.”

I turned to the father and said,—­

“I sympathize with you sincerely; but I really don’t see what I can do for you without causing myself the greatest inconvenience.”

“Perhaps you think that I shall not be able to ride so many posts in succession, but you needn’t be afraid on that score:” 

“The horse might give in; you might have a fall, and I know that I should feel obliged to stop, and I am in a hurry.  If that reason does not strike you as a cogent one, I am sorry, for to me it appears unanswerable.”

“Let us run the risk, sir, at all events.”

“There is a still greater risk of which I can tell you nothing.  In brief, sir, you ask what is impossible.”

“In Heaven’s name, sir,” said the girl, with a voice and a look that would have pierced a heart of stone, “rescue me from that dreadful journey on the roof of the diligence!  The very idea makes me shudder; I should be afraid of falling off all the way; besides, there is something mean in travelling that way.  Do but grant me this favour, and I will sit at your feet so as not to discomfort you.”

“This is too much!  You do not know me, mademoiselle.  I am neither cruel nor impolite, especially where your sex is concerned, though my refusal must make you feel otherwise.  If I give way you may regret it afterwards, and I do not wish that to happen.”  Then, turning to the father, I said,—­

“A post-chaise costs six Louis.  Here they are; take them.  I will put off my departure for a few hours, if necessary, to answer for the chaise, supposing you are not known here, and an extra horse will cost four Louis take them.  As to the rest, you would have spent as much in taking two places in the diligence.”

“You are very kind, sir, but I cannot accept your gift.  I am not worthy of it, and I should be still less worthy if I accepted the money.  Adele, let us go.  Forgive us, sir, if we have wasted half an hour of your time.  Come, my poor child.”