She spoke so emphatically that Pitou was frightened.
"You are altogether wrong, my good aunt," pleaded he, clasping his hands: "Miss Catherine has nothing to do with my misfortune."
"Impurity is the mother of all the vices," returned Angelique sententiously.
"But Impurity has nothing to do with my being turned out of school," objected the youth: "the teacher put me out because I made too many barbarisms and solecisms which prevent me of having any chance to win that purse."
"What will become of you, then?"
"Blest if I know," wailed Pitou, who had never looked upon priesthood, with Aunt 'Gelique as housekeeper as Paradise on earth. "Let come what Providence pleases," he sighed, lamentably raising his eyes.
"Providence, do you call it? I see you have got hold of these newfangled ideas about philosophy."
"That cannot be, aunt, for I cannot go into Philosophy till I have passed Rhetoric, and I am only in the third course."
"Joke away," sneered the old maid to whom the school-jargon was Greek. "I speak of the philosophy of these philosophers, not what a pious man like the priest would allow in his holy house. You are a serpent and you have been gnawing a file of the newspapers in which these dreadful writers insult King and Queen and the Church! He is lost!"
When Aunt Angelique said her ward was lost, she meant that she was ruined. The danger was imminent. She took the sublime resolution to run to Father Fortier's for explanation and above all to try to patch up the breach.
CHAPTER III.
A REVOLUTIONARY FARMER
The departure of his aunt gave Pitou a quarter of an hour in tranquillity.
He wanted to utilize it. He gathered the crumbs of his aunt's meal to feed his lizards (he was a naturalist who was never without pets,) caught some flies for his ants and frogs, and opened the cupboard and bread-box to get a supply of food for himself. Appetite had come to him with the lonesomeness.
His preparations made for a feast, he went back to the doorway so as not to be surprised by the woman's return.
While he was watching, a pretty maid passed the end of the street, riding on the crupper of a horse laden with two panniers. One was filled with pigeons, the other with pullets. This was Catherine Billet, who smiled on Pitou, and stopped on seeing him.
According to his habit he turned red as a beet: with gaping mouth, he glared – we mean – admired Kate Billet, the last expression of feminine beauty to him. She looked up and down the street, nodded to her worshipper, and kept on in her way, Pitou trembling with delight as he nodded back.
Absorbed in his contemplation, he did not perceive his relative on the return from Fortier's. Suddenly she grabbed his hand, while turning pale with anger.
Abruptly roused from his bright dream by the electric shock always caused by Aunt Angelique's grasp, the youth wheeled and saw with horror that she was holding up his hand, which was in turn holding half a loaf with two most liberal smears of butter and another of white cheese applied to it.
The woman yelled with fury and Pitou groaned with fright. She raised her other claw-like hand and he lowered his head; she darted for the broom and the other dropped the food and took to his heels without any farewell speech.
Those two hearts knew one another and understood that they could not get on together any more.
Angelique bounced indoors and locked with a double turn of the key. The grating sound seemed a renewal of the tempest to the fugitive who put on the pace.
The result was an event the aunt was as far from expecting as the young man himself.
Running as though all the fiends from below were at his heels, Pitou was soon beyond the town bounds. On turning the burial-ground wall he bunked up against a horse.
"Good gracious," cried a sweet voice well-known to the flyer, "wherever are you racing so, Master Ange? You nearly made Younker take the bit in his teeth with the scare you gave us."
"Oh, Miss Catherine, what a misfortune is on me," replied Pitou, wide of the question.
"You alarm me," said the girl, pulling up in the mid-way; "What is wrong?"
"I cannot be a priest," returned the young fellow, as if revealing a world of iniquities.
"You won't," said the maid, roaring with laughter instead of throwing up her hands as Pitou expected. "Become a soldier, then. You must not make a fuss over such a trifle. Really, I thought your aunt had kicked the bucket."
"It is much the same thing, for she has kicked me out."
"Lor', no, for you have not the pleasure of mourning for her," observed Catherine Billet, laughing more heartily than before, which scandalized the nephew.
"You are a lucky one to be able to laugh like that, and it proves you have a merry heart, and the sorrows of others make no impression on you."
"Who tells you that I should not feel for you if you met a real grief?"
"Real? when I have not a feather to fly with!"
"All for the best," returned the peasant girl.
"But how about eating?" retorted Pitou; "a fellow must eat, and I am always sharp set."
"Don't you like to work?"
"What am I to work at?" whined he. "My aunt and Father Fortier have repeated a hundred times that I am good for nothing. Ah! if I had been bound prentice to a wheelwright or a carpenter, instead of their trying to make a priest of me. Upon my faith, Miss Catherine, a curse is on me!" said he with a wave of the hand in desperation.
"Alack!" sighed the girl who knew like everybody the orphan's melancholy tale: "there is truth in what you say, my poor Pitou. But there is one thing you might do."
"Do tell me what that is?" cried the youth, jumping towards the coming suggestion as a drowning man leaps for a twig of willow.
"You have a guardian in Dr. Gilbert, whose son is your schoolfellow."
"I should rather think he was, and by the same token I have taken many floggings for him."
"Why not apply to his father, who, certainly, will not shake you off?"
"That would be all right if I knew where to address him; but your father may know as he farms some of his land."
"I know that he sends some of the rent to America and banks the other part here at a notary's."
"America is a far cry," moaned Pitou.
"What, would you start for America?" exclaimed the maid, almost frightened at his courage.
"Me? Sakes! No, never! France is good enough for me if I could get enough to eat and drink."
"Very well," said she, falling into silence which lasted some time.
The lad was plunged into a thoughtful mood which would have much puzzled Teacher Fortier the logical man. Starting from Obscurity, the reverie brightened and then grew confused again, like lightning.
Younker had started in again for the walk home, and Pitou, with a hand on one basket, trudged on beside it. As dreamy as her neighbor, Catherine let the bridle drop with no fear about being run away with. There were no monsters on the highway and Younker bore no resemblance to the fabulous hippogriffs.
The walker stopped mechanically when the animal did, which was at the farm.
"Hello, is this you, Pitou?" challenged a strong-shouldered man, proudly stationed before a drinking pool where his horse was swilling.
"It is me, Master Billet."
"He's had another mishap," said the maid, jumping off the horse without any heed as to showing her ankles. "His aunt has sent him packing."
"What has he done to worry the old bigot this time?" queried the farmer.
"It appears that I am not good enough in Greek," said the scholar, who was lying, for it was Latin he was a bungler at.
"What do you want to be good at Greek for?" asked the broad-shouldered man.
"To explain Theocritus and read the Iliad. These are useful when you want to be a priest."
"Trash!" said Billet. "Do you need Greek and Latin? do I know my own language – can I read or write? but this does not prevent me plowing, sowing and reaping."
"But you, Master Billet, are a cultivator and not a priest: 'Agricole,' says Virgil – "
"Do not you think a farmer is on a level with a larned clerk – you cussed choir-boy? Particularly when the Agricoaler has a hundred acres of tilled land in the sun and a thousand louis in the shade?"
"I have always been told that a priest leads the happiest life: though I grant," added Pitou, smiling most amiably, "I do not believe all I hear."
"You are right, my boy, by a blamed sight– you see I can make rhymes, if I like to try. It strikes me that you have the makings in you of something better than a scholard, and that it is a deused lucky thing that you try something else – mainly at the present time. As a farmer I know which way the wind blows, and it is rough for priests. So then, as you are an honest lad and larned," here Pitou bowed at being so styled for the first time – "you can get along without the black gown."
Catherine, who was setting the chickens and pigeons on the ground, was listening with interest to the dialogue.
"It looks hard to win a livelihood," said the lad.
"What do you know how to do?"
"I can make birdlime and snare game. I can mock the birds' songs, eh, Miss Kate?"
"He can whistle like a blackbird."
"But whistling is not a trade," commented Billet.
"Just what I say to myself, by Jingo!"
"Oh, you can swear – that is a manly accomplishment, any how."
"Oh, did I? I beg your pardon, farmer."
"Don't mention it," said the rustic. "I rip out myself sometimes. Thunder and blazes!" he roared to his horse, "can't you be quiet? these devilish Percherons must always be grazing and jerking. Are you lazy," he continued to the lad.
"I don't know. I have never worked at anything but learning Greek and Latin, and they do not tempt me much."
"A good job – that shows that you are not such a fool, as I took you for," said Billet.
His hearer opened his eyes immeasurably; this was the first time he had heard this order of ideas, subversive of all the theories set up for him previously.
"I mean, are you easily tired out?"
"Bless you, I can go ten leagues and never feel it."
"Good, we are getting on; we might train you a trifle lower and make some money on you as a runner."
"Train me lower," said Pitou, looking at his slender figure, bony arms and stilt-like legs; "I fancy I am thin now as it is."
"In fact, you are a treasure, my friend," replied the yeoman, bursting into laughter.
Pitou was stepping from one surprise to another; never had he been esteemed so highly.
"In short, how are you at work?"
"Don't know; for I never have worked."
The girl laughed, but her father took the matter seriously.
"These rogues of larned folk," he broke forth, shaking his fist at the town, "look at them training up the youth in the way they should not go, in laziness and idleness. What good is such a sluggard to his brothers, I want to know?"
"Not much," said Pitou; "luckily I have no brothers."
"By brothers I mean all mankind," continued the farmer; "are not all men brothers, hey?"
"The Scripture says so."
"And equals," proceeded the other.
"That is another matter," said the younger man; "if I had been the equal of Father Fortier I guess he would not have given me the whip so often; if I were the equal of my aunt, she would not have driven me from home."
"I tell you that all men are brothers and we shall soon prove this to the tyrants," said Billet. "I will take you into my house to prove it."
"You will? but, just think, I eat three pounds of bread a day, with butter and cheese to boot."
"Pooh, I see you will not be dear to feed," said the farmer, "we will keep you."
"Have you nothing else to ask father, Pitou?" inquired Catherine.
"Nothing, miss."
"What did you come along for?"
"Just to keep you company."
"Well, you are gallant, and I accept the compliment for what it is worth," said the girl, "but you came to ask news about your guardian, Pitou."
"So I did. That is funny – I forgot it."
"You want to speak about our worthy Dr. Gilbert?" said the farmer, with a tone indicating the degree of deep consideration in which he held his landlord.
"Just so," answered Pitou; "but I am not in need now; since you house me, I can tranquilly wait till he returns from America."
"You will not have to wait long, for he has returned."
"You don't say so; when?"
"I cannot exactly say: but he was at Havre a week ago; for I have a parcel in my saddlebags that comes from him and was handed me at Villers Cotterets, and here it is."
"How do you know it is from him?"
"Because there is a letter in it."
"Excuse me, daddy," interrupted Catherine, "but you boast that you cannot read."
"So I do! I want folks to say: 'There is old Farmer Billet, who owes nothing to nobody – not even the schoolmaster: for he has made himself all alone.' I did not read the letter but the rural constabulary quarter-master whom I met there."
"What does he say – that he still is content with you?"
"Judge for yourself."
Out of a leather wallet he took a letter which he held to his daughter, who read:
"My Dear Friend Billet: I arrive from America where I found a people richer, greater and happier than ours. This arises from their being free, while we are not. But we are marching towards this new era, and all must labor for the light to come. I know your principles, Friend Billet, and your influence on the farmers, your neighbors; and all the honest population of toilers and hands whom you lead, not like a king but a father.
"Teach them the principles of devotion and brotherhood I know you cherish. Philosophy is universal, all men ought to read their rights and duties by its light. I send you a little book in which these rights and duties are set forth. It is my work, though my name is not on the title-page. Propagate these principles, those of universal equality. Get them read in the winter evenings. Reading is the food of the mind as bread is that for the body.
"One of these days I shall see you, and tell you about a new kind of farming practiced in the United States. It consists, in the landlord and the tenant working on shares of the crop. It appears to me more according to the laws of primitive society and to the love of God.
"Greeting and brotherly feeling,"Honore Gilbert, Citizen of Philadelphia."
"This letter is nicely written," observed Pitou.
"I warrant it is," said Billet.
"Yes, father dear; but I doubt the quarter-master will be of your opinion. Because, this not only will get Dr. Gilbert into trouble, but you, too."
"Pooh, you are always scarey," sneered the farmer. "This does not hinder me having the book, and – we have got something for you to do, Pitou – you shall read me this in the evenings."
"But in the daytime?"
"Tend the sheep and cows. Let us have a squint at the book."
He took out one of those sewn pamphlets in a red cover, issued in great quantity in those days, with or without permission of the authorities. In the latter case the author ran great risk of being sent to prison.
"Read us the title, Pitou, till we have a peep at the book inside. The rest afterwards."
The boy read on the first page these words, which usage has made vague and meaningless lately but at that epoch they had a deep effect on all hearts:
"On the Independence of Man and the Freedom of Nations."
"What do you say to that, my lad?" cried the farmer.
"Why, it seems to me that Independence and Freedom are much of a muchness? my guardian would be whipped out of the class by Father Fortier for being guilty of a pleonasm.
"Fleanism or not, this book is the work of a real man," rejoined the other.
"Never mind, father," said Catherine, with the admirable instinct of womankind: "I beg you to hide the book. It will get you into some bad scrape. I tremble merely to look at it."
"Why should it do me any harm, when it has not brought it on the writer?"
"How do you know that, father? This letter was written a week ago, and took all that time to arrive from Havre. But I had a letter this morning from Sebastian Gilbert, at Paris, who sends his love to his foster-brother – I forgot that – and he has been three days without his father meeting him there."
"She is right," said Pitou: "this delay is alarming."
"Hold your tongue, you timid creature; and let us read the doctor's treatise?" said the farmer: "It will not only make you larned, but manly."
Pitou stuck the book under his arm with so solemn a movement that it completed the winning of his protector's heart.
"Have you had your dinner?" asked he.
"No, sir," replied the youth.
"He was eating when he was driven from home," said the girl.
"Well, you go in and ask Mother Billet for the usual rations and to-morrow we will set you regularly to work."
With an eloquent look the orphan thanked him, and, conducted by Catherine, he entered the kitchen, governed by the absolute rule of Mother Billet.
CHAPTER IV.
LONG LEGS ARE GOOD FOR RUNNING
IF NOT FOR DANCING
Mistress Billet was a fat woman who honored her husband, delighted in her daughter and fed her field hands as no other housewife did for miles around. So there was a rush to be employed at Billet's.
Pitou appreciated his luck at the full value when he saw the golden loaf placed at his elbow, the pot of cider set on his right, and the chunk of mild-cured bacon before him. Since he lost his mother, five years before, the orphan had never enjoyed such cheer, even on a feast day.
He remembered, too, that his new duties of neatherd and shepherd had been fulfilled by gods and demigods.
Besides Mrs. Billet had the management of the kine and orders were not harsh from Catherine's mouth.
"You shall stay here," said she; "I have made father understand that you are good for a heap of things; for instance, you can keep the accounts – "
"Well, I know the four rules of arithmetic," said Pitou, proudly.
"You are one ahead of me. Here you stay."
"I am glad, for I could not live afar from you. Oh, I beg pardon, but that came from my heart."
"I do not bear you ill will for that," said Catherine; "it is not your fault if you like us here."
Poor young lambs, they say so much in so few words!
So Pitou did much of Catherine's work and she had more time to make pretty caps and "titivate herself up," to use her mother's words.
"I think you prettier without a cap on," he remarked.
"You may; but your taste is not the rule. I cannot go over to the town and dance without a cap on. That is all very well for fine ladies, who have the right to go bareheaded and wear powder on the hair."
"You beat them all without powder."
"Compliments again, did you learn to make them at Fortier's."
"No, he taught nothing like that."
"Dancing?"
"Lord help us – dancing at Fortier's! he made us cut capers at the end of the birch."
"So you do not know how to dance? Still you shall come along with me on Sunday, and see Master Isidor Charny dance: he is the best dancer of all the gentlemen round here."
"Who is he?"
"Owner of Boursiennes Manor. He will dance with me next Sunday."
Pitou's heart shrank without his knowing why.
"So you make yourself lovely to dance with him?" he inquired.
"With him and all the rest. You, too, if you like to learn."
Next day he applied himself to the new accomplishment and had to acknowledge that tuition is agreeable according to the tutor. In two hours he had a very good idea of the art.
"Ah, if you had taught me Latin, I don't believe I should have made so many mistakes," he sighed.
"But then you would be a priest and be shut up in an ugly old monastery where no women are allowed."
"That's so; well, I am not sorry I am not to be a priest."
At breakfast Billet reminded his new man that the reading of the Gilbert pamphlet was to take place in the barn at ten a. m. next day. That was the hour for mass, Pitou objected.
"Just why I pitch on it, to test my lads," replied the farmer.
Billet detested religious leaders as the apostles of tyranny, and seized the opportunity of setting up one altar against another.
His wife and daughter raising some remonstrance, he said that church was good enough for womanfolks, no doubt, and they might go and sleep away their time there; but it suited men to hear stronger stuff, or else the men should not work on his land.
Billet was a despot in his house; only Catherine ever coped with him and she was hushed when he frowned.
But she thought to gain something for Pitou on the occasion. She pointed out that the doctrines might suffer by the mouthpiece; that the reader was too shabby for the phrases to make a mark. So Pitou was agreeably surprised when Sunday morning came round to see the tailor enter while he was ruminating how he could "clean up," and lay on a chair a coat and breeches of sky blue cloth and a long waistcoat of white and pink stripes. At the same time a housemaid came in to put on another chair opposite the first, a shirt and a neckcloth; if the former fitted, she was to make half-a-dozen.
It was the day for surprises: behind the two came the hatter who brought a three-cocked hat of the latest fashion so full of style and elegance that nothing better was worn in Villers Cotterets.
The only trouble was that the shoes were too small for Ange: the man had made them on the last of his son who was four years the senior of Pitou. This superiority of our friend made him proud for a space, but it was spoilt by his fear that he would have to go to the ball in his old shoes – which would mar the new suit. This uneasiness was of short duration. A pair of shoes sent for Father Billet were brought at the same time and they fitted Pitou – a fact kept hidden from Billet, who might not like his new man literally stepping into his own shoes.
When Pitou, dressed, hatted, shod and his hair dressed, looked at himself in the mirror, he did not know himself. He grinned approvingly and said, as he drew himself up to his full height:
"Fetch along your Master Charnys now!"
"My eyes," cried the farmer, admiring him as much as the women when he strutted into the main room: "you have turned out a strapper, my lad. I should like Aunt Angelique to see you thus togged out. She would want you home again."
"But, papa, she could not take him back, could she?"
"As long as he is a minor – unless she forfeited her right by driving him out."
"But the five years are over," said Pitou quickly, "for which Dr. Gilbert paid a thousand francs."
"There is a man for you!" exclaimed Billet: "just think that I am always hearing such good deeds of his. D'ye see, it is life and death for him!" and he raised his hand to heaven.
"He wanted me to learn a trade," went on the youth.
"Quite right of him. See how the best intentions are given a twist. A thousand francs are left to fit a lad for the battle of life, and they put him in a priest's school to make a psalm-singer of him. How much did your aunt give old Fortier?"
"Nothing."
"Then she pocketed Master Gilbert's money?"
"It is likely enough."
"Mark ye, Pitou, I have a bit of a hint to give you. When the old humbug of a saint cracks her whistle, look into the boxes, demijohns and old crocks, for she has been hiding her savings. But to business. Have you the Gilbert book?"
"Here, in my pocket."
"Have you thought the matter over, father?" said Catherine.
"Good actions do not want any thought," replied the farmer. "The doctor bade me have the book read and the good principles sown. The book shall be read and the principles scattered."
"But we can go to church?" ventured the maid timidly.
"Mother and you can go to the pew, yes: but we men have better to do. Come alone, Pitou, my man."
Pitou bowed to the ladies as well as the tight coat allowed and followed the farmer, proud to be called a man.
The gathering in the barn was numerous. Billet was highly esteemed by his hired men and they did not mind his roaring at them as long as he boarded and lodged them bounteously. So they had all hastened to come at his invitation.
Besides, at this period, the strange fever ran through France felt when a nation is going to go to work. New and strange words were current in mouths never pronouncing them. Freedom, Independence, emancipation, were heard not only among the lower classes but from the nobility in the first place, so that the popular voice was but their echo.
From the West came the light which illumined before it burnt. The sun rose in the Great Republic of America which was to be in its round a vast conflagration for France by the beams of which frightened nations were to see "Freedom" inscribed in letters of blood.
So political meetings were less rare than might be supposed. Apostles of an unknown deity sprang up from heaven knows where, and went from town to town, disseminating words of hope. Those at the head of the government found certain wheels clogged without understanding where the hindrance lay. Opposition was in all minds before it appeared in hands and limbs, but it was present, sensible, and the more menacing as it was intangible like a spectre and could be premised before it was grappled with.
Twenty and more farmers, field hands, and neighbors of Billet were in the barn.
When their friend walked in with Pitou, all heads were uncovered and all hats waved at arms-length. It was plain that these men were willing to die at the master's call.
The farmer explained that the book was by Dr. Gilbert which the young man was about to read out. The doctor was well-known in the district where he owned much land, while Billet was his principal tenant.
A cask was ready for the reader, who scrambled upon it, and began his task.
Common folks, I may almost say, people in general, listen with the most attention to words they do not clearly understand. The full sense of the pamphlet escaped the keenest wits here, and Billet's as well. But in the midst of the cloudy phrases shone the words Freedom, Independence and Equality like lightnings in the dark, and that was enough for the applause to break forth:
"Hurrah for Dr. Gilbert!" was shouted.
When the book was read a third through, it was resolved to have the rest in two more sessions, next time on the Sunday coming, when all hands promised to attend.
Pitou had read very well: nothing succeeds like success. He took his share in the cheers for the language, and Billet himself felt some respect arise for the dismissed pupil of Father Fortier.
One thing was lacking to Ange, that Catherine had not witnessed his oratorical triumph.
But Billet hastened to impart his pleasure to his wife and daughter. Mother Billet said nothing, being a woman of narrow mind.
"I am afraid you will get into trouble," sighed Catherine, smiling sadly.
"Pshaw, playing the bird of ill-omen again. Let me tell you that I like larks better than owls."
"Father, I had warning that you were looked upon suspiciously."
"Who said so?"
"A friend."
"Advice ought to be thanked. Tell me the friend's name?"
"He ought to be well informed, as it is Viscount Isidor Charny."
"What makes that scented dandy meddle with such matters? Does he give me advice on the way I should think? Do I suggest how he should cut his coat? It seems to me that it would be only tarring him with the same brush."
"I am not telling you this to vex you, father: but the advice is given with good intention."
"I will give him a piece, and you can transmit it with my compliments. Let him and his upper class look to themselves. The National Assembly is going to give them a shaking up; and the question will be roughly handled of the royal pets and favorites. Warning to his brother George, the Count of Charny, who is one of the gang, and on very close terms with the Austrian leech."
"Father, you have more experience than we, and you can act as you please," returned the girl.
"Indeed," said Pitou in a low voice, "why does this Charny fop shove in his oar anyhow?" for he was filled with arrogance from his success.
Catherine did not hear, or pretended not, and the subject dropped.
Pitou thought the dinner lasted a long time as he was in a hurry to go off with Catherine and show his finery at the rustic ball. Catherine looked charming. She was a pretty, black-eyed but fair girl, slender and flexible as the willows shading the farm spring. She had tricked herself out with the natural daintiness setting off all her advantages, and the little cap she had made for herself suited her wonderfully.
Almost the first of the stray gentlemen who condescended to patronize the popular amusement was a young man whom Pitou guessed to be Isidor Charny.
He was a handsome young blade of twenty-three or so, graceful in every movement like those brought up in aristocratic education from the cradle. Besides, he was one of those who wear dress to the best harmony.
On seeing his hands and feet, Pitou began to be less proud over Nature's prodigality towards him in these respects. He looked down at his legs with the eye of the stag in the fable. He sighed when Catherine wished to know why he was so glum.
But honest Pitou, after being forced to own the superiority of Charny as a beauty, had to do so as a dancer.
Dancing was part of the training, then: Lauzum owed his fortune at court to his skill in a curranto in the royal quadrille. More than one other nobleman had won his way by the manner of treading a measure and arching the instep.
The viscount was a model of grace and perfection.
"Lord 'a' mercy," sighed Pitou when Catherine returned to him; "I shall never dare to dance with you after seeing Lord Charny at it."
Catherine did not answer as she was too good to tell a lie; she stared at the speaker for he was suddenly becoming a man: he could feel jealousy.
She danced three or four times yet, and after another round with Isidor Charny, she asked to be taken home; that was all she had come for, one might guess.
"What ails you?" she asked as her companion kept quiet; "why do you not speak to me?"
"Because I cannot talk like Viscount Charny," was the other's reply. "What can I say after all the fine things he spoke during the dances?"
"You are unfair, Ange; for we were talking about you. If your guardian does not turn up, we must find you a patron."
"Am I not good enough to keep the farm books?" sighed Pitou.
"On the contrary, with the education you have received you are fitted for something better."
"I do not know what I am coming to, but I do not want to owe it to Viscount Charny."