He spoke carelessly and lightly. De Sainfoy's fine blue eyes considered him coldly, measured his height and breadth and found them wanting.
"Ah! You are a La Marinière, I suppose?" he said.
"Ange de la Marinière, at your service."
Georges held out his hand. It was with an oddly unwilling sensation that Angelot gave his. Though the action might be friendly, there was something slighting, something impatient, in the stranger's manner; and the cousins already disliked each other, not yet knowing why.
"Are my family well? Do they expect me?" said Georges de Sainfoy.
"I believe they are very well. I do not know if they expect you," Angelot answered.
"Is it true that this is not the road to Lancilly?"
D'Ombré growled something about military insolence, and Monsieur des Barres laughed.
"Pardon, gentlemen," said De Sainfoy. "I am impatient, I know. A soldier on his way home does not expect to be stopped by etiquettes about passing on the road. My cousin knows the country; I appeal to him, as one of you did just now. Is this the way to Lancilly, or not?"
Angelot laughed. "Yes—and no," he said.