Percy Reed, seated near a table loaded with needle-books, silk-winders, and a hundred little trinkets, with a cigar in his mouth, and a sock, with a little round gourd shoved into the foot of it, in his hand, was intently occupied in darning a hole in the toe.
"There! don't throw away your cigar. Mon Dieu! can a person never see you without being overpowered at your grand politeness?"
"Mademoiselle, I make no apologies. Buttons will come off, and stockings will contract holes. Washer-women are heartless. The mountain will not come to Mahomet: therefore I darn 'em myself."
"A philosopher under all circumstances. And pray what have you done with your pupil in morality and economy?"
"Oh, Dupleisis? I have started him out in a carriage to view the wonders of this 'River of January.' By-the-by, if you ever hope to attract, don't dream of mentioning figures in the presence of our mysterious Frenchman."
"Why?"
"The branch of mathematics known as simple addition seems to be the crowning glory of his intellect. He knows to a milreis the value of this building, from chimney-pot to cellar."
"Blessed with curiosity," said Mademoiselle, significantly.
"Mathematics entirely. If Armand Dupleisis were entering the pearly gates of Paradise, amid the resounding hallelujahs of cherubim and seraphim, he would deliberately count the cost of the entire wardrobe, before he thought of receiving the waters of eternal life."
"Mr. Reed," said Mademoiselle, earnestly, "who did you ever see of whom you could not speak lightly?"