"A fortnight seems to me quite long enough to write to Paris and get an answer," said Georges.
He was a little sorry for himself. He wished he had seen Ratoneau for the first time on horseback, a smart, correct officer, reviewing his troops. Then it would have been easy enough to accept him as a brother-in-law. But this red-faced, slovenly creature in careless undress, made even more repulsive by his uncanny likeness to Napoleon—vulgar in manners, bragging in talk! De Sainfoy had met strange varieties of men among his brother officers, but never anything quite so forbidding as this. He did not give his sister a thought of pity; it was not in him; but he had a moment of sympathy with his father, of surprise at his mother. However, he was not the man to be conquered by prejudice. If the affair was disagreeable, all the more reason to push it through quickly, to reach any advantages it might bring. His smooth young brow had a new line across it; that was all.
"You talk of the Prefect's 'beloved Chouans,' Monsieur le Général," he said. "It seems to me that in any case he is not fit for his position. It sounds like treason, what you say."
"Ah! that is another question," said Ratoneau. "That need not concern us just now, you and me. He must do what we want, first of all; later on we shall see. Remember, Monsieur le Vicomte, any active measures against the Chouans would touch your family—your connections, at least. Very complicated, the state of society in this province. I wish for nothing better than to sweep out all these tiresome people, but it behoves me to move gently."
Georges could not help smiling. "That must be against your principles and your inclinations, Monsieur le Général."
"It is against my interests," Ratoneau said, drily enough. "Inclinations—well, yes. I should be sorry to annoy Monsieur Urbain de la Marinière, who is on my side in these affairs. He is a sensible man. His brother's right place is in a state prison. As to that son of his—well, he wants a sharp lesson, and one of these days he will have it. He is an impudent young scoundrel, that little La Marinière."
Ratoneau lifted his dark eyes and looked straight at Georges, who flushed under his gaze.
"But perhaps you think better of your cousin?" the General said.
"No—I dislike him. He is a presumptuous fellow."
"Presumptuous in what way?"