Lerne jumped convulsively and raised his head.
It was merely a squirrel watching us from the top of a branch.
My uncle darted a ferocious glance at it, fixing it as if he were taking aim at it; then he began to laugh in a reassured sort of way.
“Ha, ha, ha! it’s only a little ... thing,” said he, unable to find the word.
“Really,” thought I within myself, “how queer one may become as one gets old. Environment, I know, is the cause of many evolutions; one adopts the ways and manner of speech of one’s familiars in spite of oneself; the surroundings of Lerne might suffice to explain why my uncle is dirty, expresses himself ill, speaks with a German accent and smokes that huge pipe.... But he has ceased caring for flowers, he no longer looks after his property, and at this moment looks extraordinarily nervous and preoccupied. If one adds to that the happenings of last night, it all seems something less than natural.”
Meanwhile the Professor looked at me in a disconcerting way, and eyed me up and down as if here were sizing me up and had never seen me before. I began to lose countenance. A fierce debate was going on within him which was reflected on his face. Every moment our looks crossed, but at last they met, and joined, and my uncle, not being able to hold his peace any longer appeared for the second time to make up his mind.
“Nicolas,” he said, patting me on the thigh, “I am a ruined man, you know.”
I understood his plan, and was revolted.
“Uncle, be frank with me; you want me to go!”
“I want you to go! What an idea!”