"It is an excellent likeness!"
"I think it is. I am vain enough to be proud of it. But tell me—what shall I do with myself at Rocheville?"
"As if you were ever at a loss! You will have enough society; and there are the students and the officers—"
"Bah! I am sick of them all. I shall turn recluse and spend all my days in some quiet nook by the sea. After Paris, one hates society."
"After Paris," said M. Lorman, "one hates many good things."
He laughed self-complacently, and held out his hand.
"Good-bye."
She went with him to the hall, and waited, leaning against the table and breaking to pieces a shred of grass that she had taken from a vase, while he drew a great packet of loose papers from the breast-pocket of his coat, and tried to discover the time of his train.
"Who will play the dance in 'Le vrai Amant?'" she asked.
"Monsieur Raoul—a man who fiddles for love of the thing. He is a hunchback, or nearly so, and will interest you."