Combeferre hurried up the block towards the cafe where Mademoiselle Crawley (he couldn't think of her as anything else, not quite yet) had suggested they meet. Her offer to show him around had been so kind, he had overcome his natural shyness - not to mention skepticism of those funny little telephones - to contact her, as she had suggested, and he had found himself rather looking forward to it for most of a day. She seemed a kind girl (and lovely, too, to be perfectly honest) and a warm host, and besides, the opportunity to speak French and see the hospital facilities was difficult to pass up.
As was so often the case, he had a couple of books under his arm: Candide, a perennial favorite of his that he had picked up in a bookshop out of nostalgia for his own collection in Paris, and a biography of Albert Einstein he had found at the public library that had become his second home. He smiled crookedly as he approached and set his books beside the vacant chair. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle," Combeferre greeted her as he sat. "I hope you have not been waiting long?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-09-17 10:26 pm (UTC)As was so often the case, he had a couple of books under his arm: Candide, a perennial favorite of his that he had picked up in a bookshop out of nostalgia for his own collection in Paris, and a biography of Albert Einstein he had found at the public library that had become his second home. He smiled crookedly as he approached and set his books beside the vacant chair. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle," Combeferre greeted her as he sat. "I hope you have not been waiting long?"