“May I ask you,” he went on, “who the friend is who gave you news of Olivier? I must tell you that I attach particular importance to the company my children keep. I consider that it’s a thing it’s impossible to pay too much attention to. My sons fortunately have a natural tendency to make friends with only the best people. Vincent, you see, with his prince; Olivier with the Comte de Passavant.... As for George, he has been going about at Houlgate with one of his schoolfellows--a young Adamanti--he’s to be at the Vedel-Azaïs school next term too; a boy in whom one can have complete confidence; his father is senator for Corsica. But just see how prudent one has to be! Olivier had a friend who seemed to belong to an excellent family--a certain Bernard Profitendieu. I must tell you that old Profitendieu is a colleague of mine; a most distinguished man. I have particular esteem for him. But ... (between ourselves) ... it has just come to my knowledge that he is not the father of the boy who bears his name! What do you say to that?” “Young Bernard Profitendieu is the very person who spoke to me about Olivier,” I said. Molinier drew a few deep puffs from his cigar and raised his eyebrows very high, so that his forehead was covered with wrinkles: “I had rather Olivier saw as little as possible of that young fellow. I have heard the most deplorable things about him--not that I’m much astonished at that. We must admit that there’s no grounds for expecting any good from a boy who has been born in such unfortunate conditions. I don’t mean to say that a natural child mayn’t have great qualities--and even virtues; but the fruit of lawlessness and insubordination must necessarily be tainted with the germs of anarchy. Yes, my dear friend, what was bound to happen has happened. Young Bernard has suddenly left the shelter of the family which he ought never to have entered. He has gone “to live his life,” as Emile Augier says; live Heaven knows how or where. Poor Profitendieu, when he told me about this extravagant behaviour, seemed exceedingly upset about it. I made him understand that he ought not to take it so much to heart. In reality the boy’s departure puts everything to rights again.” I protested that I knew Bernard well enough to vouch for his being a charming, well-behaved boy. (Needless to say I took good care not to mention the affair of the suit-case.) But Molinier only went on all the more vigorously. “So! So! I see I must tell you more.” Then, leaning forward and speaking in a whisper: