Then he was silent; but he kept pulling his beard as if he were ringing a bell within him, as if he were trying to pull it out, and he rolled his eyes like a man who is greatly embarrassed.
Madame Maramballe was following her own train of thought: “You are not a peasant. You have an education—”
He interrupted her proudly: “I studied surveying, madame.”
“Then why did you stay with us, and blast your prospects?”
He stammered: “That's it! that's it! it's the fault of my dispositton.”
“How so, of your disposition?”
“Yes, when I become attached to a person I become attached to him, that's all.”
She began to laugh: “You are not going to try to tell me that Maramballe's sweet disposition caused you to become attached to him for life.”
He was fidgeting about on his bench visibly embarrassed, and he muttered behind his long beard:
“It was not he, it was you!”