“Take off your cap,” said his father to him.
Bouvard slipped his hands through his straw-coloured hair; then it was Pécuchet’s turn, and they communicated to each other their observations in low tones:
“Evident love of books! Ha! ha! approbativeness! Conscientiousness wanting! No amativeness!”
“Well?” said the keeper.
Pécuchet opened his snuff-box, and took a pinch.
“Faith!” replied Bouvard, “this is scarcely a genius.”
Placquevent reddened with humiliation.
“All the same, he will do my bidding.”
“Oho! Oho!”
“But I am his father, by God! and I have certainly the right——”