“You left the field open to me, and I have made a bold stroke for Miss Percival.”
“Well, you have no reason to be discontented with the result of the enterprise. You are the best friends in the world.”
“Yes, certainly, pretty well, but not quite satisfactory. There is nothing more amiable or more charming than Miss Percival, and really it is very good of me to acknowledge it; for, between ourselves, she makes me play an ungrateful and ridiculous role, a role which is quite unsuited to my age. I am, you will admit, of the lover’s age, and not of that of the confidant.”
“Of the confidant!”
“Yes, my dear fellow, of the confidant! That is my occupation in this house. You were looking at us just now. Oh, I have very good eyes; you were looking at us. Well, do you know what we were talking about? Of you, my dear fellow, of you, of you again, of nothing but you. And it is the same thing every evening; there is no end to the questions:
“‘You were brought up together? You took lessons together from the Abbe Constantin?’
“‘Will he soon be Captain? And then?’
“‘Commandant.’
“‘And then?’
“‘Colonel, etc., etc., etc.’