A boisterous braggart, filled with contempt for the rest of the world, he despised the entire universe from the height of his ignorance.  When he said:  “Nom d’un chien, what a spree!” he expressed the highest degree of admiration of which his mind was capable.

Having finally got rid of his peasants, Padoie inquired: 

“How are you?”

“Pretty well, as you see.  And how are you?”

“Quite well, thank you.  It is very kind of you to have thought of coming to see us.”

“Oh, I have been thinking of it for some time; but, you know, in the military profession one has not much freedom.”

“Oh, I know, I know.  All the same, it is very kind of you.”

“And Josephine, is she well?”

“Yes, yes, thank you; you will see her presently.”  “Where is she?”

“She is making some calls.  We have a great many friends here; it is a very nice town.”

“I thought so.”

The door opened and Mme. Padoie appeared.  She went over to her brother without any eagerness, held her cheek for him to kiss, and asked: 

“Have you been here long?”

“No, hardly half an hour.”

“Oh, I thought the train would be late.  Will you come into the parlor?”

They went into the adjoining room, leaving Padoie to his accounts and his taxpayers.  As soon as they were alone, she said: 

“I have heard nice things about you!”

“What have you heard?”

“It seems that you are behaving like a blackguard, getting drunk and contracting debts.”

He appeared very much astonished.

“I! never in the world!”

“Oh, do not deny it, I know it.”

He attempted to defend himself, but she gave him such a lecture that he could say nothing more.

She then resumed: 

“We dine at six o’clock, and you can amuse yourself until then.  I cannot entertain you, as I have so many things to do.”

When he was alone he hesitated as to whether he should sleep or take a walk.  He looked first at the door leading to his room and then at the hall door, and decided to go out.  He sauntered slowly through the quiet Breton town, so sleepy, so calm, so dead, on the shores of its inland bay that is called “le Morbihan.”  He looked at the little gray houses, the occasional pedestrians, the empty stores, and he murmured: 

“Vannes is certainly not gay, not lively.  It was a sad idea, my coming here.”

He reached the harbor, the desolate harbor, walked back along a lonely, deserted boulevard, and got home before five o’clock.  Then he threw himself on his bed to sleep till dinner time.  The maid woke him, knocking at the door.

“Dinner is ready, sir:” 

He went downstairs.  In the damp dining-room with the paper peeling from the walls near the floor, he saw a soup tureen on a round table without any table cloth, on which were also three melancholy soup-plates.