Vigneron, "it by no
means amuses me to stay here, kicking my heels, while my wife and my son
go back to Paris without me. They have to go, however, for life at the
hotel is no longer bearable; and besides, if I kept them with me, and the
railway people won't listen to reason, I should have to pay three extra
fares. And to make matters worse, my wife hasn't got much brains. I'm
afraid she won't be able to manage things properly."
Then, almost breathless, he overwhelmed Madame Vigneron with the most
minute instructions--what she was to do during the journey, how she was
to get back home on arriving in Paris, and what steps she was to take if
Gustave was to have another attack. Somewhat scared, she responded, in
all docility, to each recommendation: "Yes, yes, dear--of course, dear,
of course."
But all at once her husband's rage came back to him. "After all," he
shouted, "what I want to know is whether my return ticket be good or not!
I must know for certain! They must find that station-master for me!"
He was already on the point of rushing away through the crowd, when he
noticed Gustave's crutch lying on the platform. This was disastrous, and
he raised his eyes to heaven as though to call Providence to witness that
he would never be able to extricate himself from such awful
complications. And, throwing the crutch to his wife, he hurried off,
distracted and shouting, "There, take it! You forget everything!"
The sick pilgrims were now flocking into the station, and, as on the
occasion of their arrival, there was plenty of disorderly carting along
the platform and across the lines.
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