At this moment, however, he was hardly in possession of all his faculties.
That valiant man, that old soldier, was timid; and he would have felt much more at ease under the fire of a battery than in that humble parlor in the Rue St. Gilles, under the uneasy glance of Maxence and Mme. Favoral.
Having bowed, having made a little friendly sign to Mlle. Gilberte, he had stopped short, two steps from the door, his hat in his hand.
Eloquence was not his forte. He had prepared himself well in advance; but though he kept coughing: hum! broum! though he kept running his finger around his shirt-collar to facilitate his delivery, the beginning of his speech stuck in his throat.
Seeing how urgent it was to come to his assistance,
“I was expecting you, sir,” said Mlle. Gilberte. With this encouragement, he advanced towards Mme. Favoral, and, bowing low,
“I see that my presence surprises you, madame,” he began; “and I must confess that—hum!—it does not surprise me less than it does you. But extraordinary circumstances require exceptional action. On any other occasion, I would not fall upon you like a bombshell. But we had no time to waste in ceremonious formalities. I will, therefore, ask your leave to introduce myself: I am General Count de Villegre.”
Maxence had brought him a chair.
“I am ready to hear you, sir,” said Mme. Favoral. He sat down, and, with a further effort,
“I suppose, madame,” he resumed, “that your daughter has explained to you our singular situation, which, as I had the honor of telling you—hum!—is not strictly in accordance with social usage.”