It struck us that his servants waited on him with a promptitude and punctuality quite marvellous in Berrichon domestics.  Nevertheless, at the least semblance of delay he raised his voice, knitted his eyebrows (which still showed very black under his white hair), and muttered a few expressions of impatience which lent wings even to the slowest.  At first I was somewhat shocked at this habit; it appeared to savour rather too strongly of the Mauprats.  But the kindly and almost paternal manner in which he spoke to them a moment later, and their zeal, which seemed so distinct from fear, soon reconciled me to him.  Towards us, moreover, he showed an exquisite politeness, and expressed himself in the choicest terms.  Unfortunately, at the end of dinner, a door which had been left open and through which a cold air found its way to his venerable skull, drew from him such a frightful oath that my friend and I exchanged a look of surprise.  He noticed it.

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” he said.  “I am afraid you find me an odd mixture.  Ah, you see but a short distance.  I am an old branch, happily torn from a vile trunk and transplanted into good soil, but still knotted and rough like the wild holly of the original stock.  I have, believe me, had no little trouble in reaching the state of comparative gentleness and calm in which you behold me.  Alas! if I dared, I should reproach Providence with a great injustice—­that of having allotted me a life as short as other men’s.  When one has to struggle for forty or fifty years to transform one’s self from a wolf into a man, one ought to live a hundred years longer to enjoy one’s victory.  Yet what good would that do me?” he added in a tone of sadness.  “The kind fairy who transformed me is here no more to take pleasure in her work.  Bah! it is quite time to have done with it all.”

Then he turned towards me, and, looking at me with big dark eyes, still strangely animated, said: 

“Come, my dear young man; I know what brings you to see me; you are curious to hear my history.  Draw nearer the fire, then.  Mauprat though I am, I will not make you do duty for a log.  In listening you are giving me the greatest pleasure you could give.  Your friend will tell you, however, that I do not willingly talk of myself.  I am generally afraid of having to deal with blockheads, but you I have already heard of; I know your character and your profession; you are an observer and narrator—­in other words, pardon me, inquisitive and a chatterbox.”

He began to laugh, and I made an effort to laugh too, though with a rising suspicion that he was making game of us.  Nor could I help thinking of the nasty tricks that his grandfather took a delight in playing on the imprudent busybodies who called upon him.  But he put his arm through mine in a friendly way, and making me sit down in front of a good fire, near a table covered with cups—­

“Don’t be annoyed,” he said.  “At my age I cannot get rid of hereditary sarcasm; but there is nothing spiteful in mine.  To speak seriously, I am delighted to see you and to confide in you the story of my life.  A man as unfortunate as I have been deserves to find a faithful biographer to clear his memory from all stain.  Listen, then, and take some coffee.”