“He looks like a bear, a badger, a wolf, a kite, anything rather than a man,” continued Leblanc.  “What hands! what legs!  And now he has been cleaned up a little, he is nothing to what he was!  You ought to have seen him the day he arrived with his smock and his leather gaiters; it was enough to take away one’s breath.”

“Do you think so?” answered Edmee.  “For my part, I preferred him in his poacher’s garb.  It suited his face and figure better.”

“He looked like a bandit.  You could not have looked at him properly, mademoiselle.”

“Oh! yes, I did.”

The tone in which she pronounced these words, “Yes, I did,” made me shudder; and somehow I again felt upon my lips the impress of the kiss she had given me at Roche-Mauprat.

“It would not be so bad if his hair were dressed properly,” continued the duenna; “but, so far, no one had been able to persuade him to have it powdered.  Saint-Jean told me that just as he was about to put the powder puff to his head he got up in a rage and said, ’Anything you like except that confounded flour.  I want to be able to move my head about without coughing and sneezing.’  Heavens, what a savage!”

“Yet, in reality, he is quite right.  If fashion did not sanction the absurdity, everybody would perceive that it is both ugly and inconvenient.  Look and see if it is not more becoming to have long black hair like his?”

“Long hair like that?  What a mane.  It is enough to frighten one.”

“Besides, boys do not have their hair powdered, and he is still a boy.”

“A boy?  My stars! what a brat Boys?  Why he would eat them for his breakfast; he’s a regular ogre.  But where does the hulking dog spring from?  I suppose M. le Chevalier brought him here from behind some plough.  What is his name again? . . .  You did tell me his name, didn’t you?”

“Yes, inquisitive; I told you he is called Bernard.”

“Bernard!  And nothing else?”

“Nothing, for the present.  What are you looking at?”

“He is sleeping like a dormouse.  Look at the booby.  I was wondering whether he resembled M. le Chevalier.  Perhaps it was a momentary error—­a fit of forgetfulness with some milk-maid.”

“Come, come, Leblanc; you are going too far . . .”

“Goodness gracious, mademoiselle, has not M. le Chevalier been young like any other man?  And that does not prevent virtue coming on with years, does it?”

“Doubtless your own experience has shown you that this is possible.  But listen:  don’t take upon yourself to make fun of this young man.  It is possible that you have guessed right; but my father requires him to be treated as one of the family.”

“Well, well; that must be pleasant for you, mademoiselle.  As for myself, what does it matter to me?  I have nothing to do with the gentleman.”

“Ah, if you were thirty years younger.”

“But did your father consult you, mademoiselle, before planting yon great brigand in your room?”