Mar. Oh, yes; she adores trees, rocks, rivers, etcetera—things that, for my own part, I don't think very interesting.
Man. [Smiling, and throwing himself carelessly into a chair.] Pray, then, may I ask what you do think interesting?
Mar. [Rising.] Excuse me, sir.
[Goes out with a slight and disdainful inclination.
Man. A timely reproof—for I was already forgetting my position. [Alain is crossing the stage.] My friend, a word with you.
Alain. Certainly, sir.
Man. Monsieur Laroque is very old, is he not?
Alain. Oh, yes sir, very old.
Man. He was a seaman formerly, I believe?
Alain. Yes sir, and a bold one too. Up in the picture gallery, there are paintings of some of his most famous battles with the English. Ah! he was a terrible man. Why, sir, if you'll believe me, when the fit is on him, he will walk for hours alone in that gallery, in a sort of dream, muttering to himself, and fancying that he is again on board his ship in the midst of fire and slaughter, and between you and I, sir, they do say—but hush! he's coming with his granddaughter.