"What do you mean by that?"
"Parbleu! when young men go to see a young girl, anyone knows what the result is likely to be, and one need not be very shrewd to guess it. But, after all, I assure you that it makes no difference to me; I see nothing out of the common course in it."
"I consider you very presumptuous to dare to indulge in such reflections. If you were not constantly at our heels, how would you know where we go? But if you presume to say another word about that girl, I shall find a way to chastise such insolence!"
The vagabond’s only reply was to stretch himself out on the turf with a sneering laugh; then he took a snuffbox from his pocket, and after dipping his own fingers in it, handed it to Alfred, saying very calmly:
"Do you use it? It’s fresh, I bought it this morning at Saint-Amand."
The stranger’s placidity upset all Alfred’s ideas; his wrath redoubled, and he was on the point of resorting to some act of violence; but Edouard held him back and stepped between him and the stranger.
"My dear De Marcey, what are you thinking about? and why are you so incensed with this poor fellow?"
Alfred stopped, blushing as if ashamed because he had been unable to control himself. But at the name of Marcey, which Edouard had pronounced, the stranger acted as if he had been struck by lightning; and a sudden change took place in his whole aspect. His face no longer wore an expression of indifference or irony, but of surprise, interest and disquietude. He rose suddenly and walked up to Alfred, scrutinizing him anxiously; then he said to him:
"I beg pardon, monsieur, but your name, please?"
The stranger’s voice was no longer the same; it had lost the harsh, stern accent which seemed natural to it and had taken on an entirely new tone; his changed manner of address was that of a man who is accustomed to good society.