His eyes met mine as I looked round, and he smiled. "I should not have
thought, Gaston," he said, "that a man with so seared a conscience could
have slept thus soundly."
"I have not slept soundly," I grumbled, recalling my dream.
"Pardieu! you have slept long, at least."
"Out of self-protection; so that I might not hear the name of Genevi?ve de
Canaples. 'T is a sweet name, but you render it monotonous."
He laughed good-humouredly.
"Have you never loved, Gaston?"
"Often."
"Ah--but I mean did you never conceive a great passion?"
"Hundreds, boy."
"But never such a one as mine!"
"Assuredly not; for the world has never seen its fellow. Be good enough to
pull the cord, you Cupid incarnate. I wish to alight."
"You wish to alight! Why?"
"Because I am sick of love. I am going to ride awhile with Michelot whilst
you dream of her coral lips, her sapphire eyes, and what other gems
constitute her wondrous personality."
Two minutes later I was in the saddle riding with Michelot in the wake of
the carriage. As I have already sought to indicate in these pages,
Michelot was as much my friend as my servant.
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