Suddenly it appeared to Pitou that a shade was thrown over the pages of the pamphlet, until then illuminated by the morning sun. This shadow, too dense to be that of a cloud, could therefore only be produced by some opaque body. Now, there are opaque bodies which are so delightful to look upon, that Pitou quickly turned round to ascertain what it was that thus intercepted his sunshine.
Pitou’s hopes were, however, delusive. There was in fact an opaque body which robbed him of the daylight and heat which Diogenes desired Alexander not to deprive him of. But this opaque body, instead of being delightful, presented to his view a sufficiently disagreeable appearance.
It was that of a man about forty-five years old, who was taller and thinner than Pitou himself, dressed in a coat almost as threadbare as his own, and who was leaning his head over his shoulder, and appeared to be reading the pamphlet with a curiosity equal to Pitou’s absence of mind.
Pitou was very much astonished; a gracious smile was playing round the lips of the dark-looking gentleman, exhibiting a mouth which had only retained four teeth, two in the upper and two in the lower jaw, crossing and sharpening themselves against each other, like the tusks of the wild boar.
“An American edition,” said the man, with a strong nasal twang; “an octavo: ‘On the Liberty of Man and the Independence of Nations, Boston, 1788.'”
While the black man was talking, Pitou opened his eyes with progressively increasing astonishment, so that when the man ceased speaking, Pitou’s eyes had attained the greatest possible development of which they were capable.
“Boston, 1788. That is right, sir,” replied Pitou.
“It is the treatise of Doctor Gilbert,” said the gentleman in black.
“Yes, sir,” politely replied Pitou, rising from his seat, for he had been told that it was uncivil to remain sitting when speaking to a superior; and in the still ingenuous mind of Pitou this man had the right to claim superiority over him.
But on getting up, Pitou observed something of a rosy color moving towards the window, and which gave him a significant glance. This rosy something was Mademoiselle Catherine. The young girl looked at him with an extraordinary expression, and made strange signs to him.
“Sir, if it is not being indiscreet,” said the gentleman in black, who, having his back turned towards the window, was altogether ignorant of what was passing, “may I ask to whom this book belongs?”
And he pointed with his finger to the pamphlet which Pitou held in his hand.
Pitou was about to say that the book belonged to Monsieur Billot, when he heard the following words uttered in an almost supplicating tone:—
“Say that it is your own.”
The gentleman in black, who was at that moment all eyes, did not hear these words.
“Sir,” replied Pitou majestically, “this book belongs to me.”
The gentleman in black raised his head, for he began to remark that the amazed looks of Pitou were from time to time diverted from him, to fix themselves on one particular spot. He saw the window, but Catherine had divined the movement of the gentleman in black, and, rapid as a bird, she had disappeared.
“What are you looking at, up yonder ” inquired the gentleman in black.
“Well, now,” replied Pitou, smiling, “permit me to observe to you that you are very inquisitive,—curiosus, or rather avidus cognoscendi, as the Abbé Fortier, my preceptor, used to say.”
“You say, then,” rejoined the interrogator, without appearing in the slightest degree intimidated by the proof of learning which Pitou had just given, with the intention of affording the gentleman in black a higher idea of his acquirements than he had before entertained,—”you say, then, that this book is yours?”
Pitou gave his eyes a furtive glance, so that the window came within the scope of his visual organs. Catherine’s head again appeared at it, and made him an affirmative sign.
“Yes, sir,” replied Pitou. “You are, perhaps, anxious to read it,—Avidus legendi libri, or legendæ historiæ.”
“Sir,” said the gentleman in black, “you appear to be much above the position which your attire would indicate. Non dives vestitu sed ingenio. Consequently, I arrest you.”