Having bowed respectfully, Frédéric began his speech, in which he floundered a little at times, because the count's eyes, fastened on his face, seemed determined to read his inmost thoughts. He set forth his project, however, and awaited in fear and trembling his father's reply. The count seemed to reflect, and did not speak for some minutes. Frédéric dared not break the silence, and at last the count spoke.
"You wish to leave Paris, Frédéric?"
"Yes, monsieur le comte."
"Are you tired already of its pleasures—balls and parties? It is rather early for that."
Frédéric sighed, but made no reply.
"You haven't told me everything," continued the count, with a sarcastic smile. "Confess that some disappointment in love——"
Frédéric blushed, and lowered his eyes; whereupon the count went on, in a gentler tone:
"Well, all that sort of thing belongs to your age. Travel; I am willing; it cannot fail to be useful to you. But if your presence should become necessary, I trust that nothing would delay your return?"
"Oh! father, a single word from you, and I will be with you."
"Very good; I rely upon your word."