"Pray forgive me, monsieur," he faltered, "for presuming to take down one of those books; but I had to wait—and I thought that—that——"
"There is no occasion to apologize, my friend; you have done no wrong. On the contrary, it is greatly to your credit that you are fond of reading. What book have you there?"
"La Rochefoucauld's Maximes."
"That is rather a serious work; what do you think of it?"
"What he says is very sad, and does not give one a very high opinion of men. But I'm afraid it is true."
Monsieur Vermoncey looked at Paul in amazement.
"Really, my friend," he said, "you are no common messenger; I have noticed already that you express yourself in much better language than most of those in your station, and now your opinion of this book proves that I was not mistaken; you have had a good education, have you not?"
"Yes, monsieur; an excellent man, who had no children, became interested in me and took me into his family when I was hardly ten years old. He was kind enough to send me to school; and I was so happy not to remain ignorant, that I made the most of the instruction that was given me."
"How does it happen that your patron, having given you an education, allowed you to become a messenger? He should have completed his work and found you a place."
"Ah! monsieur, it was not that excellent man's fault. He took me into his own office as clerk; but at his death I lost everything, place and patron. It was then that I became a messenger; it was necessary for me to earn money."