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"Keep to books, and don't criticise our lives," said Camille, glancing
at him imperiously.
The dinner ceased to be gay. Claude Vignon's sarcasm had made the two
women pensive. Calyste was conscious of pain in the midst of the
happiness he found in looking at Beatrix. Conti looked into the eyes
of the marquise to guess her thoughts. When dinner was over
Mademoiselle des Touches took Calyste's arm, gave the other two men to
the marquise, and let them pass before her, that she might be alone
with the young Breton for a moment.
"My dear Calyste," she said, "you are acting in a manner that
embarrasses the marquise; she may be delighted with your admiration,
but she cannot accept it. Pray control yourself."
"She was hard to me, she will never care for me," said Calyste, "and
if she does not I shall die."
"Die! you! My dear Calyste, you are a child. Would you have died for
me?"
"You have made yourself my friend," he answered.
After the talk that follows coffee, Vignon asked Conti to sing
something. Mademoiselle des Touches sat down to the piano.


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