“Singular; very singular!” repeated M. Goefle, scratching his chin, as he habitually did when he was puzzled.
“Not so very singular,” said Christian; “I have observed this trifling deformity in other people. For instance, I noticed it in the Baron de Waldemora, and much more obvious than in me.”
“Yes, by Jove! precisely! That is just what I was thinking about. His two little fingers are quite closed down. Had you observed it, gentlemen?”
“Very often,” said Larrson; “and before Christian Waldo, who gives almost all his earnings to the poor, it may be said, without any allusion being suspected, that such closed fingers are reckoned a sign of avarice.”
“And yet,” said M. Goefle, “the baron is not close about money. I know it might be said, in his case, that his love of display is an additional reason for coveting riches at any cost; but his father was very disinterested, and his brother generous to excess. So the shut fingers prove nothing.”
“Had the baron’s father and brother this same peculiarity?” asked Christian.
“Yes, and very marked, as I have understood. And one day, as I was studying the family portraits, I was quite surprised to find several of his ancestors with the same crooked fingers. Is not that a very singular thing?”
“Let us hope,” observed Christian, “that I shall never be like the baron in any other respect. But as to the bear-hunt, even if I should lose both my deformed hands, I am dying to be one of the party. I shall make a point of going.”
“Come with us!” cried Larrson; “I will call for you in the morning.”
“Early?”