Landrillon hummed a light air, making an ugly grimace that was chock-full of hidden meaning.
Vicious to the marrow, having passed through the worst promiscuities of the barracks, his character was a compound of police-spy, male-prostitute, and blackmailer. Incapable of understanding anything deep or noble in ordinary affections, still less could he recognize and admit the possibility of an absolutely noble and elevated love of man for man.
As Blandine kept silent, not understanding these insinuations, he pursued "I have my own notion, Mam'zelle. My opinion is that he no longer pays much attention to petticoats, our governor, even supposing that he ever troubled about them. But, you ought to know something about it, eh? Would he have already "unharnessed," and he a young man still?"
"Landrillon!" protested Blandine, "pray refrain from such reflections. It is not for you to judge the Count. What he does is well done, do you hear?"
"Beg pardon, Mademoiselle, I'll keep quiet, perfectly quiet! But all the same, he's very mysterious, our master! He leads
