In the car they met a merchant, named Bonnaud, an intimate friend of Lansade. It was necessary to break the silence and engage in one of those trivial conversations so tedious to persons preoccupied by a single idea. Fortunately, the merchant was loquacious, and the two friends were content to let him do most of the talking.
“When we reflect,” cried Bonnaud, “that formerly it took three hours and a half, and sometimes five, to go to Versailles, and that now thirty-five minutes suffice for the whole trip, it is almost incredible! It took me, in 1829,—the year of the cold winter,—five days and nights to come from Bordeaux, which is to-day a journey of only thirteen hours! It is astounding!”
“Nothing more so,” replied Paul, complacently assenting.
“And to think,” continued Bonnaud, “that there are in the world so many ignorant and insincere people——”
“There are a great many,” interrupted Buck.
“What?”
“Ignorant and insincere people, as you just remarked.”
“True; ignorant and insincere people, who pretend—what do I say? who deny—that this is an age of progress.”
“What! there are individuals so stupid, so benighted, as to maintain such absurdities!” returned the painter, rising angrily: “that is not possible!”
“Yes, my dear sir, there are such people,—more of them than you may imagine: I know many such.”