“It is not a pleasant tale for Manon to tell.”
“And the fellow has got his deserts. I am ready to wish he may lose that other eye, and be harmless for the rest of his life. But let us talk of something more pleasant.”
He lit a cigar, and, walking up and down for a moment on his brisk legs, paused abruptly in front of Manon.
“I have some good news for you.”
“You are full of good news, Monsieur Anatole.”
“Well, listen. When I was in Amiens I fell in with a gentleman who is planning excursions to the battlefields. He wanted to know of a place where the richer sort of people might be able to spend the night, and get the atmosphere of a devastated village. ‘My friend,’ said I, ‘I know the very place in my own village, a little hôtel that will be ready to receive such people in a month or two.’ He jumped. ‘It will be very simple,’ said I. ‘The simpler the better, my dear fellow. We want the proper atmosphere.’ So, my dear, if the idea pleases you, I will drive you over to Amiens in a day or two, and you can make arrangements with this gentleman. It should be quite a prosperous enterprise.”
Manon jumped up and kissed him, and Durand did not appear to object. He was a democrat, and the new Beaucourt was going to be very democratic.
“What a good friend you are.”
“I’m just an old boy,” said Durand.