“Ah, I forgot, you don’t smoke pipes; and I have no cigars. Dear, dear, what a pity! And is your wife pretty well, and the children?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“That’s all right.”
“And how’s the reverend father?”
“The father? Oh, as usual, you know.”
“Not well?”
“He doesn’t like this place; there’s such a lot of work, and at his age it’s hard.”
“Yes, yes, he’s getting on. Yes, it’s a pity.”
Silence.
“Won’t you have some whiskey?” suddenly asked the choir-master.