Camors found the General had not exaggerated the local importance of this personage, and that it was most essential to conciliate him.

Resolving therefore to call on him during the day, he went to breakfast.
This duty toward himself fulfilled, the young Count lounged on the terrace, as he had the evening before, and smoked his cigar.

Though it was near midday, it was doubtful to him whether the solitude and silence appeared less complete and oppressive than on the preceding night.

A hushed cackling of fowls, the drowsy hum of bees, and the muffled chime of a distant bell--these were all the sounds to be heard.
Camors lounged on the terrace, dreaming of his club, of the noisy Paris crowd, of the rumbling omnibuses, of the playbill of the little kiosk, of the scent of heated asphalt--and the memory of the least of these enchantments brought infinite peace to his soul.

The inhabitant of Paris has one great blessing, which he does not take into account until he suffers from its loss--one great half of his existence is filled up without the least trouble to himself.