Albert sat down submissively on the bed, and smiled pleasantly.
“Oh, yes!” said he, suddenly striking his forehead with his hand, and putting on an expression of anxious curiosity. The expression of his face always foretold what he was going to say. “I wanted to ask you,”—he hesitated a little—“that gentleman who was there with you last evening. … You called him N⸺. Was he the son of the celebrated N⸺?”
“His own son,” replied Delesof, not understanding at all what Albert could find of interest in him.
“Indeed!” he exclaimed, smiling with satisfaction. “I instantly noticed that there was something peculiarly aristocratic in his manners. I love aristocrats. There is something splendid and elegant about an aristocrat. And that officer who danced so beautifully,” he went on to ask. “He also pleased me very much, he was so gay and noble looking. It seems he is called Adjutant N⸺ N⸺.”
“Who?” asked Delesof.
“The one who ran into me when we were dancing. He must be a splendid man.”
“No, he is a silly fellow,” replied Delesof.
“Oh, no! it can’t be,” rejoined Albert hotly. “There’s something very, very pleasant about him. And he’s a fine musician,” added Albert. “He played something from an opera. It’s a long time since I have seen anyone who pleased me so much.”
“Yes, he plays very well; but I don’t like his playing,” said Delesof, anxious to bring his companion to talk about music. “He does not understand classic music, but only Donizetti and Bellini; and that’s no music, you know. You agree with me, don’t you?”