As soon as he was on his feet, he perceived, at a great distance, two figures coming toward him and making signs. A woman was waving a parasol and a man in shirtsleeves was carrying a coat over his arm. Then the woman began to run, calling out: “Monsieur! Monsieur!” He wiped his brow and replied: “Madame!”
“Monsieur, we are lost, positively lost,” said the lady, as she approached him.
A feeling of shame prevented him from making a similar confession and he gravely asserted: “You are on the road to Versailles.”
“What, on the road to Versailles? Why, we are going to Rueil,” said she.
He was taken aback, but nevertheless replied calmly: “Madame, I will prove to you with my map that you are really on the road to Versailles.”
The husband approached. He wore a hopeless, distracted expression. His wife, a young and pretty brunette, grew furious as soon as he drew near. “Now see what you’ve done! Here we are at Versailles. Please look at the map that Monsieur is kind enough to show you. Are you able to read? Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! how stupid some people are! Didn’t I tell you to take to the right? But you wouldn’t listen, no, you think you know everything!”
The poor fellow seemed exceedingly distressed, and replied: “But, my dear, it is you—”
She refused to let him continue and began to reproach him with all the misfortunes of all their life, from their marriage to that moment. But he kept casting despairing glances toward the woods, anxiously scanning the path and uttering from time to time a piercing sound something like a single word, Tuit. This did not appear to disturb his wife, but it filled Patissot with astonishment.
Suddenly the young woman, turning with a smile to the chief clerk, remarked: “If Monsieur will permit us, we will accompany him, so as to keep from getting lost and being obliged to sleep in the woods.”
As Patissot could not very well refuse, he bowed with a heavy heart, tortured with apprehension, and not knowing where he could lead them.
They walked a long while; the man was continually crying: Tuit; and at last darkness settled. The veil of mist that hovers over the country at dusk slowly descended and the delightful coolness which fills the woods at nightfall lent a peculiar charm to the atmosphere. The young wife had taken Patissot’s arm, and her red lips addressed continual reproaches to her husband, who made no reply but kept on calling: Tuit louder and louder. At last the fat clerk inquired: “What is that call for?”
The man, with tears in his eyes, replied:
“I’ve lost my poor dog!”
“What, you’ve lost your dog?”
“Yes, we brought him up in Paris and he had never been in the country before. When he saw the leaves he acted like a mad thing. He ran into the woods and I haven’t seen him since. He will surely starve to death there.”
The young wife shrugged her shoulders: “When a person is as stupid as you are, he cannot keep dogs.”
But he had suddenly stopped, and began to feel himself all over. She watched him a moment, and then asked:
“Well, what has happened now?”
“I didn’t notice that I had my coat on my arm. I have lost my purse, with my money in it!”
At this turn of affairs the woman choked with rage. Finally she said:
“Well, then go back at once and look for it.”
Gently he answered: “Yes, my dear, but where shall I find you?”
Patissot replied boldly: “At Versailles.” And he mentioned the Hotel des Réservoirs, having heard people speak of it.
The husband turned back, anxiously scanning the ground as he walked away, and shouting Tuit every minute. It was some time before he disappeared; at last he was lost in the darkness, but his voice still sounded at a great distance uttering its lamentable Tuit, the call growing sharper and sharper as the path grew darker and his hope became more faint.
Patissot felt delightfully moved when he found himself alone in the woods, at the mysterious hour of dusk, with this little strange woman clinging to his arm. For the first time in all his egotistical life, he had an inkling of poetical love, of the charm of sweet surrender, and of nature’s participation in our affections. He racked his brain in vain for some appropriate and gallant expression. But they were nearing a village road, and saw some houses at the right; then a man passed them. Patissot tremblingly inquired the name of the place. The man said it was Bougival.
“What, Bougival? Are you sure?”
“I should think so! I live here.”
The young woman was laughing uproariously. The idea that her husband was lost filled her with mirth. Patissot found a rustic restaurant near the water, and there they dined. The lady was charming, vivacious, full of amusing stories that turned the head of her companion. When it was time to leave, she exclaimed: “Why, now that I think of it, I haven’t a cent of change; you know my husband lost his purse.”
Patissot immediately offered her his own, and pulled out a louis, thinking he couldn’t lend her less. She said nothing, but held out her hand and took it, uttering a dignified, “Thank you, Monsieur,” followed by a pretty smile. Then she tied her bonnet-strings in front of the mirror, refused to let him accompany her, now that she knew her way, and departed like a vanishing bird, leaving Patissot to add up mournfully the expenses of his outing.
He stayed at home the next day on account of a sick-headache.
III
A Visit
During a whole week Patissot related his adventure to everyone that would listen to him, describing poeticaly the places he
