The abruptness doesn't bother Feuilly: they're both startled by the intrusion, and the man needs to get out. And it's not as though, say, Grantaire is any politer with the maids and waiters at cafés.

But.

He looks out the window a little while longer. Go you, sirrah. How easy it sounded. And give Harry another ten years, twenty years?

Emilia, sheepish, returns to Feuilly's shoulder. "So--now where do we go?" she asks quietly.