"Tell me, you traveler," said Christophe. "Do you know my country?"
"Yes."
"I bet you don't know a word of German."
"Yes, I do. I know it quite well."
"Let us see."
They began to talk German. The boy jabbered on quite ungrammatically with the most droll coolness; he was very intelligent and wide awake, and guessed more than he understood: often he guessed wrong; but he was the first to laugh at his mistakes. He talked eagerly about his travels and his reading. He had read a great deal, hastily, superficially, skipping half the pages, and inventing what he had left unread, but he was always urged on by a keen curiosity, forever seeking reasons for enthusiasm. He jumped from one subject to another, and his face grew animated as he talked of plays or books that had moved him. There was no sort of order in his knowledge. It was impossible to tell how he could read right through a tenth-rate book, and yet know nothing of the greatest masterpieces.
"That is all very well," said Christophe. "But you will never do anything if you do not work."
"Oh! I don't need to. We are rich."
"The devil! Then it is a very serious state of things. Do you want to be a man who does nothing and is good for nothing?"
"No. I should like to do everything. It is stupid to shut yourself up all your life in a profession."