He blinked slightly, pondered a moment upon this sententious drivel,
then very properly ignored it, reverting to his puzzle.

"But is it not incomprehensible that people should eat indoors this fine
weather?"

I admitted that it was. I knew very well how hot and stuffy the salon of
Madame Brossard's "Grande Suite" must be, while the garden was fragrant
in the warm, dry night, and the outdoor air like a gentle tonic.
Nevertheless, Professor Keredec and his friend preferred the salon.

When a man is leading a very quiet and isolated life, it is
inconceivable what trifles will occupy and concentrate his attention.
The smaller the community the more blowzy with gossip you are sure to
find it; and I have little doubt that when Friday learned enough
English, one of the first things Crusoe did was to tell him some scandal
about the goat. Thus, though I treated the "Keredec affair" with a
seeming airiness to Amedee, I cunningly drew the faithful rascal out,
and fed my curiosity upon his own (which, as time went on and the
mystery deepened, seemed likely to burst him), until, virtually, I was
receiving, every evening at dinner, a detailed report of the day's
doings of Professor Keredec and his companion.

The reports were voluminous, the details few. The two gentlemen, as
Amedee would relate, spent their forenoons over books and writing in
their rooms. Professor Keredec's voice could often be heard in every
part of the inn; at times holding forth with such protracted vehemence
that only one explanation would suffice: the learned man was delivering
a lecture to his companion.