In the different offices and departments of the bank they
intrigued to obtain possession of Monsieur Alphonse; for a breath
of life and freshness followed ever in the wake of his handsome
person and joyous nature. Charles, on the other hand, had often
remarked that his colleagues regarded him as a dry person, who
thought only of business and of himself.
The truth was that he had a heart of rare sensitiveness, with no
faculty for giving it expression.
Charles was one of those small, black Frenchmen whose beard begins
right under the eyes; his complexion was yellowish and his hair
stiff and splintery. His eyes did not dilate when he was pleased
and animated, but they flashed around and glittered.
When he laughed the corners of his mouth turned upward, and many a
time, when his heart was full of joy and good-will, he had seen
people draw back, half-frightened by his forbidding exterior.
Alphonse alone knew him so well that he never seemed to see his
ugliness; every one else misunderstood him. He became suspicious,
and retired more and more within himself.
In an insensible crescendo the thought grew in him: Why should he
never attain anything of that which he most longed for--intimate
and cordial intercourse and friendliness which should answer to
the warmth pent up within him? Why should every one smile to
Alphonse with out-stretched hands, while he must content himself
with stiff bows and cold glances?
Alphonse knew nothing of all this.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101