The mother, seeing the storm ready to burst, attacked me more adroitly, admitting that her son might be guilty, but that he must have been driven to it by misery, as he had got no bread wherewith to feed his children.  She added: 

“My good sir, take pity on us, for he is our only support.  Do a good deed and set him free, for he would stay in prison all his days unless we sold our beds to pay you.”

“My worthy woman, I forgive him completely.  Hand this document to the police magistrate and all will be well.”

At the same time I gave her a louis and told her to go, not wishing to be troubled with her thanks.  A few moments after, the official came to get my signature for the man’s release, and I had to pay him the legal costs.  My lamps cost twelve francs to mend, and at nine o’clock I started, having spent four or five louis for nothing.

Adele was obliged to sit between my legs, but she was ill at ease.  I told her to sit further back, but as she would have had to lean on me, I did not urge her; it would have been rather a dangerous situation to begin with.  Moreau sat at the back of the carriage, Clairmont went on in front, and we were thus neck and neck, or rather neck and back, the whole way.

We got down to change horses, and as we were getting into the carriage again Adele had to lift her leg, and shewed me a pair of black breeches.  I have always had a horror of women with breeches, but above all of black breeches.

“Sir,” said I to her father, “your daughter has shewn me her black breeches.”

“It’s uncommonly lucky for her that she didn’t shew you something else.”

I liked the reply, but the cursed breeches had so offended me that I became quite sulky.  It seemed to me that such clothes were a kind of rampart or outwork, very natural, no doubt, but I thought a young girl should know nothing of the danger, or, at all events, pretend ignorance if she did not possess it.  As I could neither scold her nor overcome my bad temper, I contented myself with being polite, but I did not speak again till we got to St. Simphorien, unless it was to ask her to sit more comfortably.

When we got to St. Simphorien I told Clairmont to go on in front and order us a good supper at Roanne, and to sleep there.  When we were about half-way Adele told me that she must be a trouble to me, as I was not so gay as I had been.  I assured her that it was not so, and that I only kept silence that she might be able to rest.

“You are very kind,” she answered, “but it is quite a mistake for you to think that you would disturb me by talking.  Allow me to tell you that you are concealing the real cause of your silence.”

“Do you know the real cause?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Well, what is it?”

“You have changed since you saw my breeches.”

“You are right, this black attire has clothed my soul with gloom.”