"Here, Wenceslas, see what I have brought you," said she, laying her
handkerchief on a corner of the table; then she carefully took the
sweetmeats and fruit out of her bag.
"You are very kind, mademoiselle," replied the exile in melancholy
tones.
"It will do you good, poor boy. You get feverish by working so hard;
you were not born to such a rough life."
Wenceslas Steinbock looked at her with a bewildered air.
"Eat--come, eat," said she sharply, "instead of looking at me as you
do at one of your images when you are satisfied with it."
On being thus smacked with words, the young man seemed less puzzled,
for this, indeed, was the female Mentor whose tender moods were always
a surprise to him, so much more accustomed was he to be scolded.
Though Steinbock was nine-and-twenty, like many fair men, he looked
five or six years younger; and seeing his youth, though its freshness
had faded under the fatigue and stress of life in exile, by the side
of that dry, hard face, it seemed as though Nature had blundered in
the distribution of sex. He rose and threw himself into a deep chair
of Louis XV. pattern, covered with yellow Utrecht velvet, as if to
rest himself. The old maid took a greengage and offered it to him.
"Thank you," said he, taking the plum.
"Are you tired?" said she, giving him another.
"I am not tired with work, but tired of life," said he.
"What absurd notions you have!" she exclaimed with some annoyance.
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