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"I thought--well, that Parisian women were very fortunate to have men
of genius to adore who adore them."
"Ah! you are still in your village," said Felicite, laughing. "What!
did you not see that she loves him less, and--"
"That is evident," said Claude Vignon, who had only read the first
page. "Do people reason on their situation when they really love; are
they as shrewd as the marquise, as observing, as discriminating? Your
dear Beatrix is held to Conti now by pride only; she is condemned to
love him /quand meme/."
"Poor woman!" said Camille.
Calyste's eyes were fixed on the table; he saw nothing about him. The
beautiful woman in the fanciful dress described that morning by
Felicite appeared to him crowned with light; she smiled to him, she
waved her fan; the other hand, issuing from its ruffle of lace, fell
white and pure on the heavy folds of her crimson velvet robe.
"She is just the thing for you," said Claude Vignon, smiling
sardonically at Calyste.
The young man was deeply wounded by the words, and by the manner in
which they were said.


Pages:
170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194