“Oh! how right you are! how good you are!”
“As for this gentleman—from the Tower, he is not an acquaintance. We have met him twice, and both times his assistance was quite necessary to us; he escorted us as far as our gate, but he has never entered the house, and probably never will.”
“Ah! my dear friend, suppose Madame Droguet had heard that strange man’s words in the ravine, beside the cross! what fine tales she would have to tell!”
“Hush, Agathe, hush, for heaven’s sake! I shudder in spite of myself when I think of that. I feel that it would distress me to be compelled to have a bad opinion of that man.”
“Especially as he has very refined manners, and a very comme il faut air, has this Monsieur Paul. I am sure that he would be very fine-looking, if he hadn’t so much hair on his face.”
“Oh! I didn’t notice that; I hardly looked at him. He has black eyes, hasn’t he?”
“Not exactly—brown; but very soft.”
“Do you think so? And a scornful mouth?”
“Oh, no! his smile is very agreeable.”
“What! did he smile while he was talking to us?”