Beatrix at last took offence at what she thought
Camille's distrust; she considered it out of place between them. At
the same time she was enchanted to find the great writer a victim to
the pettiness of her sex, and she resolved to enjoy the pleasure of
showing her where her greatness ended, and how even she could be
humiliated.
"My dear, what is to be the excuse to-day for Monsieur du Guenic's not
dining with us?" she asked, looking maliciously at her friend. "Monday
you said we had engagements; Tuesday the dinner was poor; Wednesday
you were afraid his mother would be angry; Thursday you wanted to take
a walk with me; and yesterday you simply dismissed him without a
reason. To-day I shall have my way, and I mean that he shall stay."
"Already, my dear!" said Camille, with cutting irony. The marquise
blushed. "Stay, Monsieur du Guenic," said Camille, in the tone of a
queen.
Beatrix became cold and hard, contradictory in tone, epigrammatic, and
almost rude to Calyste, whom Felicite sent home to play /mouche/ with
Charlotte de Kergarouet.
"/She/ is not dangerous at any rate," said Beatrix, sarcastically.
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