"You must excuse him, sir," said Lescaut; "the youngster is quite a greenhorn, and very far, as you can perceive, from having Parisian manners; but we hope that a little practice will give him some polish. You will have the honor," added he, turning to me, "of often seeing this gentleman here; be sure you profit by so good an example."
The old gallant seemed pleased to see me. He patted me once or twice on the cheek, and told me that I was a fine lad, but that I must be on my guard in Paris, where
young folk were very apt to be led into dissipation. Lescaut assured him that I was of so virtuous a disposition that I talked of nothing but of becoming a priest, and that my chief amusement consisted in building miniature chapels.
"I think he is like Manon," remarked the old gentleman, raising my chin with his hand.
I replied, with affected stupidity, "That's because we are of the same blood and bone, sir; and, besides, I love my sister Manon just as if she were part of myself."
"Do you hear that?" he said to Lescaut. "He's a bright lad, and it's a pity that he has not seen enough of the world to give him a little better manner."
