—Your name, Captain, said Marcel growing red; but there are several persons of your name.
—That is what I said to myself. There is more than one donkey which is called Neddy, and more than one Papa Durand in the world. Papa! that recalls to me my position as father, sir, and the purpose of my presence here.
Marcel trembled.
—For you may guess that independently of the pleasure of paying you a call, I have moreover another object in view.
—Proceed, Captain.
—Yes, sir. I wish to talk to you about my daughter.
—About your daughter! cried Marcel.
—About my daughter, if you allow me.
—Do so, I beg of you.
—Monsieur le Curé, you have been in this neighbourhood some six or eight months. People have certainly spoken to you about me; they have told you who I am; a miscreant, a man without religion, who regards neither law or Gospel: that is to say, only worth hanging. In spite of that, you came to see me. Very good. You know that I do not pick and choose my words, that I do not seek a lot of little twisting ways to express my meaning. You have had a proof of it. I am blunt, and even brutal, that is well known; but I am open and true.