"I do not understand you, my dear count."
"I will explain myself; but on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you will not interrupt me."
"Very good, if you insist. Now I will listen to you."
"My friend," the count said, "the first friendly face I met on landing in America was yours; though we were placed in very different situations, accident was pleased to bring us together with such persistency, that what was at first but a passing acquaintance has become, without either of us knowing how, a sincere and profound affection. It is not possible to become so connected with a man without studying his character a little, which I have done with you, and you doubtless have done with me. Now, I believe that I know you intimately enough, my friend, to feel convinced that you did not come suddenly to our house tonight with the mere object of supping, or, forgive the phrase, indulging in a débauche, which does not agree with your character or morals, as you are the most sincerely sober man I ever met. Moreover, I ask myself, why you, so chary of your words, and especially of your secrets, have told us this story, very interesting, I allow, but which, apparently, does not concern us in any way, and can have but a very secondary interest for us. To this I answer that if you thus came to ask of us a supper, which you could very well have done without, you came expressly to tell us this narrative: that it interests you more than us, and I conclude that you have still something to tell us, or, to speak more clearly, to ask of us."
"That is evident," said Dominique.
"Well yes: all you have supposed is true—the supper was only a pretext, and I really only came here tonight with the intention of telling you the story you have just heard."
"Very good," said Dominique, joyously, "that, at any rate, is being frank."
"Still I confess," the adventurer continued sadly, "that I now hesitate because I am afraid."