"I do not understand you, monsieur."
"Do you dare to look me in the face and answer me in that way?"
"Look you in the face, monsieur? I wish that I could, but alas! at this distance I am utterly unable to distinguish your features."
"True, monsieur," replied Cloarek, with much less brusqueness, "I had forgotten your infirmity. But though you cannot see, you may rest assured that I have an eye that nothing escapes. It is one advantage that I have over you, and one that I shall profit by, I assure you."
"I assure you that this advantage will be of very little service to you so far as I am concerned. I have never had anything to conceal in my life."
This odd mixture of frankness and gentleness, of melancholy and dignity, touched Cloarek; nevertheless he tried to resist its softening influence.
"I am blessed with a very small amount of penetration, monsieur," continued Onésime, "but your questions and the tone in which they are asked, as well as some of your remarks, lead me to suppose that you have a grievance against me, though I am unfortunately ignorant of the cause."
"You love my daughter?" said Cloarek, gazing searchingly at the youth as if resolved to read his inmost thoughts.
Onetime turned red and pale by turns, and felt so much like falling that he was obliged to reseat himself at a small table and bury his face in his hands.
In his attempt to cover his face the handkerchief that was bound around his hand fell off, disclosing to view the terrible burn he had received, and though Cloarek was accustomed to seeing all sorts of hurts, the grave nature of this one made him shudder and say to himself: