“I think this is an empty cab,” he said, as a fiacre approached them.
“No,” replied Saniel, “I see the light of a cigar through the windowpane.”
Glady made a slight gesture of impatience that was not lost upon Saniel, who was expecting some such demonstration.
Rich, and frequenting the society of poor men, Glady lived in dread of borrowers. It was enough for any man to appear to wish to talk to him privately to make him believe that he was going to ask for fifty louis or twenty francs; so often was this the case that every friend or comrade was an enemy against whom he must defend his purse. And so he lay in wait as if expecting some one to spring upon him, his eyes open, his ears listening, and his hands in his pockets. This explains his attitude toward Saniel, in whom he scented a demand for money, and was the reason for his attempt to escape by taking a cab. But luck was against him, and he tried to decline the unspoken request in another way.
“Do not be surprised,” he said, with the volubility with which a man speaks when he does not wish to give his companion a chance to say a word, “that I was pained to see Brigard take seriously an argument that evidently was not directed against him.”
“Neither against him nor against his ideas.”
“I know that; you do not need to defend yourself. But I have so much friendship, so much esteem and respect for Brigard that everything that touches him affects me. And how could it be otherwise when one knows his value, and what a man he is? This life of mediocrity that he lives, in order to be free, is it not admirable? What a beautiful example!”
“Not every one can follow it.”
“You think that one cannot be contented with ten francs a day?”
“I mean that not every one has the chance to make ten francs a day.”