“I am judged,” said he. “Your opinion of me is just what I thought it was. For you I am neither a man nor a Christian. You see me void of affection and religion, unattached by friend or family, unpiloted by principle or faith. It is well, Mademoiselle; such is our reward in this life.”

“You are a philosopher, Monsieur; a cynic philosopher” (and I looked at his paletôt , of which he straightway brushed the dim sleeve with his hand), “despising the foibles of humanity⁠—above its luxuries⁠—independent of its comforts.”

“ Et vous, Mademoiselle? vous êtes proprette et douillette, et affreusement insensible, par-dessus le marché. ” 224

“But, in short, Monsieur, now I think of it, you must live somewhere? Do tell me where; and what establishment of servants do you keep?”