And this "Oh! Monsieur!" at the same time that it was a protest in favor of his feet, was also a sort of friendly reprimand,—friendly to the point of encouragement,—for his familiarity. Did he understand? I think so, for again, with more force, and even with a sort of amorous trembling, he repeated:
"Célestine, you smell awfully good,—awfully good."
Ah! but the old gentleman is making free. I appeared as if slightly scandalized by his insistence, and kept silence. Timid as he is, and knowing nothing of the tricks of women, Monsieur was disturbed. He feared undoubtedly that he had gone too far, and, suddenly changing his idea, he asked:
"Are you getting accustomed to the place, Célestine?"
That question? Was I getting accustomed to the place? And I had been there but three hours. I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing. The old gentleman has queer ways; and, really, he is a little stupid.
But that makes no difference. He does not displease me. In his very vulgarity he reveals a certain power and masculinity which are not disagreeable to me.
When his boots had been taken off, and to leave him with a good impression of me, I asked him, in my turn:
"I see Monsieur is a hunter. Has Monsieur had a good hunt to-day?"
"I never have good hunts, Célestine," he answered, shaking his head. "I hunt for the sake of walking,—for the sake of riding,—that I may not be here, where I find it tiresome."
"Ah! Monsieur finds it tiresome here?"