"Oh! no indeed, monsieur," replied Galuchet, with a serious air, "I cherish the hope of catching a trout."
"But do you expect to return to Gargilesse to-night?"
"Certainly, monsieur. Your father didn't want me to-day, so he gave me permission to take the whole day; but as soon as I have caught my trout, please God, I shall leave this wretched spot."
"And suppose you catch nothing?"
"Then I shall curse still more bitterly the idea that occurred to me of coming so far to see such a hovel. What a horrible place, monsieur? Can anyone imagine a more melancholy country and a château in worse condition? And to think that tourists tell you that it's superb, and that nobody should live on the Creuse without going to see Crozant! Unless there are fish in this stream, I'll be hanged if you ever catch me here again. But I have no faith in their stream. This clear water is detestable for angling, and the constant noise makes your headache. I am sick with it."
"I see that you haven't had a very pleasant walk," said Gilberte, who had never seen Galuchet's absurd face before, and who was sorely tempted to laugh at his prosaic scorn. "But you must agree that these ruins are very impressive; at all events they are unique. Have you been up in the great tower?"
"God forbid, mademoiselle!" replied Galuchet, flattered by Gilberte's attention, and gazing at her with his wide-open round eyes, which were extraordinarily far apart and separated by a curious little bunch of sandy eyebrows. "I can see the interior of the barrack from here, as it is open on all sides like a lantern, and I don't think it's worth the trouble of breaking one's neck." And taking Gilberte's smile for approval of this stinging satire, he added, in a tone which he considered jocose and clever: "A fine country, on my word! not even dog-tooth will grow here! If the Moorish kings were no better housed than that, I congratulate them! Those fellows had vile taste, and they must have cut a curious figure! Doubtless they wore clogs and ate with their fingers."
"That is a very wise historical commentary," said Emile to Gilberte, who was biting her handkerchief to avoid laughing outright at Monsieur Galuchet's knowing tone and comical countenance.
"Oh! I see that monsieur is very sarcastic," she replied. "He is entitled to be, as he comes from Paris where everybody is witty and has fine manners, while here he is among savages."
"I cannot say that at this moment," retorted Galuchet, shooting a killing glance at the fair Gilberte whom he found very much to his liking; "but frankly, this province is a little behind the times. The people are very dirty. Look at those barefooted, ragged children! In Paris everybody has shoes, and those who haven't any don't go out on Sunday. I tried to get something to eat at a house to-day: there was nothing except black bread that a dog wouldn't eat, and goat's milk that smelt decidedly rank. Those people have no shame, to live so miserably!"