M. de Bellegarde stood in a well-balanced position before the fire, caressing one of his fair whiskers with one of his white hands, and looking at Newman, half askance, with eyes from which a particular ray of observation made its way through a general meaningless smile. “It is very kind of you to make such an offer,” he said. “If I am not mistaken, your occupations are such as to make your time precious. You are in—a—as we say, dans les affaires.”
“In business, you mean? Oh no, I have thrown business overboard for the present. I am ‘loafing,’ as we say. My time is quite my own.”
“Ah, you are taking a holiday,” rejoined M. de Bellegarde. “‘Loafing.’ Yes, I have heard that expression.”
“Mr. Newman is American,” said Madame de Bellegarde.
“My brother is a great ethnologist,” said Valentin.
“An ethnologist?” said Newman. “Ah, you collect negroes’ skulls, and that sort of thing.”
The marquis looked hard at his brother, and began to caress his other whisker. Then, turning to Newman, with sustained urbanity, “You are traveling for your pleasure?” he asked.’
“Oh, I am knocking about to pick up one thing and another. Of course I get a good deal of pleasure out of it.”
“What especially interests you?” inquired the marquis.
“Well, everything interests me,” said Newman. “I am not particular. Manufactures are what I care most about.”