“I am glad, monsieur. You were then hungry after all,” he said with a deferential air of satisfaction.
“I have finished. You can take it away,” I replied.
I lit a cigar and watched him as he piled the things on the trays. He was very slow and methodical, and I fretted and fumed over the time he took, until I felt I could have kicked him out of the room and thrown the trays after him. Then he showed an inclination to talk.
“You are an American, I think, monsieur,” he said, playing at rearranging the things.
“Yes.”
“It is a fine country, I believe, monsieur.”
“Yes.”
“I have a brother there. He is doing well. He is in Chicago.”
“Oh.”
“They seem to earn very large sums of money there, monsieur. He is married and has a business of his own. He sells birds and animals.”