"And you will express that in your paper. You will not tell the truth. My countrymen will never have justice,—never, never. They are always misrepresented, always."
"What a firebrand!" reflected Vesper, and he surveyed, with some animation, the inflamed, suspicious face of the Frenchman.
"You also will caricature us," pursued Agapit; "others have done so, why should not you?"
Vesper's lips parted. He was on the point of imparting to Agapit the story of his great-grandfather's letter. Then he closed them. Why should he be browbeaten into communicating his private affairs to a stranger?
"Thank you," he said, and he rose to leave the room. "I am obliged for the information you have given me."
Agapit's face darkened; he would dearly love to secure a promise of good behavior from this stranger, who was so non-committal, so reserved, and yet so strangely attractive.
"See," he said, grandly, and flinging his hand in the direction of his books and papers. "To an honest man, really interested in my people, I would be pleased to give information. I have many documents, many books."
"Ah, you take an interest in this sort of thing," said Vesper.
"An interest—I should die without my books and papers; they are my life."