“What was it?”
She gave him the titles of the books she was awaiting. Boerzell pretended to be indignant and exclaimed that it was sheer robbery and usurpation. Were women now going to meddle with such studies! They talked for a few minutes, in their idyllic attitude, over the desk which was to them as a flowery gate.
At length, Thérèse exclaimed:
“Well, au revoir, monsieur.... They are bringing me my books.... The time for gossiping is past.... I must return to my seat....”
Boerzell had a huge volume under his arm. He bowed and said:
“I hope that we shall soon meet again, mademoiselle!”
“So do I, monsieur!”
Instinctively she watched him walk away, between the rows of readers bent over their tasks.
Without knowing why, she found him less awkward than at the ball, less unpleasant and like one transfigured.
He walked calmly, dropping “a good-day” here and there, pausing for a handshake, delayed an instant for a quick exchange of words; in this favorable atmosphere, he was served by his very disadvantages, by his tousled hair, his ill-cut beard, the shiny cloth of his coat and his careless silhouette which showed that he was a champion of ideas. He benefited from the temporary beauty which comes from ease and authority enjoyed in appropriate surroundings. He was handsome like a high official in his office at the Ministry, handsome like an adjutant at the gate of a military barracks.