“Come on;” and taking Monsieur Bélan’s arm, I dragged him away from the reading room.
II
OF THINGS THAT OFTEN HAPPEN
“Now, my dear Bélan, say on; we are on the boulevard, and you will not disturb anybody; but I advise you to lower your voice a little, for I don’t see the necessity of taking all the passers-by into your confidence.”
“Lower my voice, my friend! it is very easy for you to say that. But when one is as excited, as agitated as I am, it is perfectly justifiable to shout; it relieves one. Oh! mon Dieu! how will all this end?”
“You begin to alarm me, Bélan. What is it all about, pray?”
“Parbleu! love, intrigue, a woman—always women! as you know, I care for nothing else.”
I could not forbear a glance at the little man. I knew that he was very well-built in his little way, and that many taller men had not calves as plump and shapely as his. But his face was so ridiculous—his turned-up nose, eyebrows absurdly high, heart-shaped mouth and big eyes formed such a comical whole, that I could not understand how he could ever inspire love; I could imagine it much more easily of an ugly face which was pleasant or intellectual; but I suppose that I am not a good judge, for Bélan was generally supposed to be a favorite with the ladies, and, as he had just said himself, he was constantly mixed up in intrigue. To be sure, Bélan was rich, and money is a potent auxiliary; many self-styled seducers owe their success to it alone.
Bélan saw that I was scrutinizing him. He stood on tiptoe again, and said to me in an offended tone, for the little man is easily hurt and irritated:
“You look as if you were surprised that it is about a love intrigue. Does it astonish you that I turn the heads of the ladies?”
“No, my dear fellow; but I am astonished that you are so excited, as it is nothing more than a thing to which you must be accustomed.”