“She is bad-tempered,” he thought, “and is uneducated.”
While he was speculating upon her merits, Mme. Nina impatiently tapped her little foot, and waited for an answer; finally she said:
“Why don’t you speak? What do you want here?”
“I am charged, my dear madame,” he answered in his softest tone, “by M. Bertomy, to give you this note.”
“From Prosper! You know him, then?”
“I have that honor, madame; indeed, I may be so bold as to claim him as a friend.”
“Monsieur! You a friend of Prosper!” exclaimed Mme. Gypsy in a scornful tone, as if her pride were wounded.
Fanferlot did not condescend to notice this offensive exclamation. He was ambitious, and contempt failed to irritate him.
“I said a friend of his, madame, and there are few people who would have the courage to claim friendship for him now.”
Mme. Gypsy was struck by the words and manner of Fanferlot.