As M. Georges had said, I was restless; I could not keep still; I was continually moving about, to find something with which to occupy his mind. Of course I found nothing, and my agitation did not have a quieting influence on his.
"Why do you move about so? Why do you enervate yourself? Stay beside me."
I had asked him:
"Would you not like to be on one of those little boats yonder? I would."
"Oh! do not talk for the sake of talking. Why say useless things? Stay beside me."
Scarcely had I taken my seat beside him, when, the sight of the sea becoming utterly unendurable to him, he asked me to lower the blind.
"This bad light exasperates me; this sea is horrible. I do not wish to look at it. Everything is horrible to-day. I do not wish to see anything; I wish to see you only."
I had gently chided him.
"Oh! Monsieur Georges, you are not good. You are not behaving well. If your grandmother were to come in and see you in this condition, you would make her cry again."
Having raised himself a little on the cushions:
"In the first place, why do you call me 'Monsieur Georges'? You know that I do not like it."
"But I cannot call you 'Monsieur Gaston'!"
"Call me 'Georges' for short, naughty girl."