I went nearer to him.
"Here I am!"
"I believe the impudent boy has actually come closer!"
"Yes.... My mother told me to give you her love."
"Is your poor mother quite well?"
"I hope she is."
"She is a good creature! How the devil did you happen to come into the
world by such a mother? Come, shake hands and be off with you!"
"Good-bye, cousin."
He kept hold of my hand.
"Do you want any money, you rogue?"
"Thanks.... I have some."
"Where did you get it?"
"I will tell you that some other time; it would take too long now."
"You are right; I have no time to lose. Be off with you!"
"Good-bye, cousin."
"Come and dine with me when you like."
"Oh! thanks, yes, for your people to look down on me." "To look down on
you! I would like to see them do that. My wife dined often enough with
your grandfather and your grandmother to justify you in coming to dine
with me as often as you like.... But now be off, cub! you are making me
waste all my time."
M. Deviolaine's office-boy came in. His name was Féresse. We shall see
more of him later.
"M. Deviolaine," he said, "M. de Broval wishes to know if the report on
the management of the forest of Villers-Cotterets is finished?"
"No, not yet ... in a quarter of an hour."
Then, turning to me--
"You see?... you see?"
"I will make myself scarce, M. Deviolaine."
And off I went, while M. Deviolaine buried his nose in the report,
growling as usual.
I returned to our common office, and I sat down at my desk. My desk
was next to Lassagne's, so we were only separated from one another by
the width of our tables and by the little black set of pigeon-holes in
which the current work was usually put. Ernest had gone out, I know not
why. I asked Lassagne to tell me what to do. Lassagne got up, leant
over my desk and told me. I always took a great interest in studying
people around me, and especially the man whose position in the office
was that of my immediate superior; for, although Ernest was now a
full-fledged clerk and I only destined to be a simple copying-clerk, he
was more my comrade than my superior.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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