for me (he even made an express, point of showing it), and I
having no reason to desire his company. In short, I detested
him. Consequently, his entry at the present moment the more
astounded me. At once I divined that something out of the way
was on the carpet.

He entered with marked affability, and began by complimenting me
on my room. Then, perceiving that I had my hat in my hands, he
inquired whither I was going so early; and, no sooner did he hear
that I was bound for Mr. Astley's than he stopped, looked grave,
and seemed plunged in thought.

He was a true Frenchman insofar as that, though he could be
lively and engaging when it suited him, he became insufferably
dull and wearisome as soon as ever the need for being lively and
engaging had passed. Seldom is a Frenchman NATURALLY civil: he
is civil only as though to order and of set purpose. Also, if he
thinks it incumbent upon him to be fanciful, original, and out
of the way, his fancy always assumes a foolish, unnatural vein,
for the reason that it is compounded of trite, hackneyed forms.
In short, the natural Frenchman is a conglomeration of
commonplace, petty, everyday positiveness, so that he is the
most tedious person in the world.--Indeed, I believe that none
but greenhorns and excessively Russian people feel an attraction
towards the French; for, to any man of sensibility, such a
compendium of outworn forms--a compendium which is built up of
drawing-room manners, expansiveness, and gaiety--becomes at once
over-noticeable and unbearable.

"I have come to see you on business," De Griers began in a very