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Updated: May 1, 2025
But suddenly two names caught my eye, Orelay and Verlancourt, and we agreed that we preferred either of these names to Armance. "Which name shall give shelter to two unfortunate lovers flying in search of solitude?" "Orelay is a beautiful name." "Orelay it shall be," I said. "We shall be able to get there from Marseilles in a few hours."
If you have, you will excuse the little comedy and believe it to be natural the comedy that Doris and I played in the old carriage driving from Orelay to Verlancourt, where we hoped to breakfast. We could hardly speak for excitement. Doris thought of how she would look in a crinoline, and I remembered the illustrations in an early edition of Balzac of which I am the happy possessor.
I am of course quite certain about the facts: we breakfasted at Verlancourt, and after breakfast we asked the coachman whether he would care to go on to Paris with us; he raised his eyes "The carriage is a very old one, surely, Monsieur " Doris and I laughed, for, truth to tell, we had been so abominably shaken that we were glad to exchange the picturesque old coach of our fathers' generation for the train.
This last sentence seems to me somewhat trite, and if I were to continue this story any further my pen would run into many other superficial and facile observations, for my mind is no longer engrossed with the story. I no longer remember it; I do not mean that I do not remember whether we got to Verlancourt, whether we had breakfast, or whether we drove all the way to Paris with relays of horses.
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