ive to you, seeing how indifferently you

have prospered there,” he observed then, turning his calm face to

his nephew with a smile.

“I have already said, that for my prospering there, I am sensible

I may be indebted to you, sir. For the rest, it is my Refuge.”

“They say, those boastful English, that it is the Refuge of many.

You know a compatriot who has found a Refuge there? A Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“With a daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” said the Marquis. “You are fatigued. Good night!”

As he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there was a

secrecy in his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery to

those words, which struck the eyes and ears of his nephew

forcibly. At the same time, the thin straight lines of the setting of

the eyes, and the thin straight lips, and the markings in the nose,

curved with a sarcasm that looked handsomely diabolic.

“Yes,” repeated the Marquis. “A Doctor with a daughter. Yes.

So commences the new philosophy! You are fatigued. Good

night!”

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

It would have been of as much avail to interrogate any stone

face outside the chateau as to interrogate that face of his. The

nephew looked at him, in vain, in passing on to the door.

“Good night!” said the uncle. “I look to the pleasure of seeing

you again in the morning. Good repose! Light Monsieur my