"Farewell, my son," said the confessor; "a court lady is waiting for me."
The marquis was almost ready to faint. He met with much the same treatment from all; and acquired more knowledge of the world in half a day than he had previously learned in all the rest of his life.
Being quite overwhelmed with despair, he saw an old-fashioned chaise advance which resembled an open wagon with leather curtains; it was followed by four enormous carts which were loaded. In the chaise there was a young man dressed in the rustic manner, whose fresh countenance was replete with sweetness and gayety. His wife, a little woman of a brown complexion and an agreeable figure, though somewhat stout, sat close by him. As the carriage did not move on like the chaise of a petit-maitre, the traveller had sufficient time to contemplate the marquis, who was motionless and immersed in sorrow.
"Good God!" cried he, "I think that is Jeannot." Upon hearing this name the marquis lifts up his eyes, the carriage stops, and Colin cries out, " 'Tis Jeannot, 'tis Jeannot himself."
The little fat bumpkin gave but one spring from the chaise and ran to embrace his old companion. Jeannot recollected his friend Colin, while his eyes were blinded with tears of shame.
"You have abandoned me," said Colin; "but though you are a great man I will love you forever."
Jeannot, confused and affected, related to him, with emotion, a great part of his history.
