“But it is wrong of me to say that.—You do not like society, and you lay aside your habits to-day, in our favor; we should be very grateful to you for it.”
Paul had remained in the doorway, looking at Edmond, whom he had not previously met.
“Allow me,” said Honorine, “to present Monsieur Edmond Didier; he is the only person who comes now and then to enliven our solitude; but he is entitled to do so, for he loves Agathe, and I have promised to let them marry when they are a little more sensible.”
Paul’s brow seemed to brighten; he bowed to Edmond and took the seat that Honorine offered him.
The conversation was a little cold and intermittent at first; but before long Switzerland was mentioned, and Italy; the owner of the Tower had travelled extensively, he described vividly the different countries he had visited, interspersing his narrative with curious anecdotes, incidents that had happened to him on the road and in public houses. And he told it all without ostentation, simply and with a facility that fascinated his hearers. The moments passed and no one thought of the time.
Suddenly Paul stopped, as if ashamed of having monopolized the general attention so long.
“I am afraid that I have abused your patience and bored you,” he said. “Forgive me; you see how dangerous it is to receive one who has been a long while without talking.”
“We should be very happy,” replied Honorine, “if you would come sometimes and bore us in this same way. It must be very sad to live alone all the time, to see no one. Are you a misanthrope?”
“I have abundant reason to be.”
“And you are determined to see only evil-minded persons about you?”