Bayre sat at a little distance, but Monsieur Blaise, more bold, drew a chair to the side of the old recluse.
“You have been suffering, my friend,” said he.
“Not more than usual. I am getting old, old and broken,” answered Mr Bayre, fretfully, with a glance at his unwelcome nephew. “There are plenty of folk who rejoice in that fact, doubtless,” he added grimly.
Bartlett reddened, but said nothing.
“Ah, well, we must not worry ourselves upon those points,” said Monsieur Blaise, cheerfully. “We have come to congratulate you on having found your niece. She has returned, has she not?”
“Um, I believe so,” replied Mr Bayre, without enthusiasm. “Was it your doing, her going away?”
“I! What a question! No. I told her to come back, and I have come to suggest some final arrangements regarding her marriage with me.”
“Ah!”
As he spoke Monsieur Blaise had gradually drawn his chair nearer and nearer, and young Bayre, watching him intently, was surprised to see a sudden change which came over his fat face when he was close to the old man.
As for the recluse, he kept his eyes on the floor, or on the points of his own slippers, so that he noted nothing of this close scrutiny, of this change of expression on his visitor’s face.