When he
feels at his ease, he is witty; and I love his girlish timidity. My
soul rests in his heart away from all corruptions, all ideas of
knowledge, literature, the world, society, politics,--those useless
accessories under which we stifle happiness. I am what I have never
been,--a child! I am sure of him, but I like to play at jealousy; he
likes it too. Besides, that is part of my secret."
Beatrix walked on pensively, in silence. Camille endured unspeakable
martyrdom, and she cast a sidelong look at her companion which looked
like flame.
"Ah, my dear; but /you/ are happy," said Beatrix presently, laying her
hand on Camille's arm like a woman wearied out with some inward
struggle.
"Yes, happy indeed!" replied Felicite, with savage bitterness.
The two women dropped upon a bench from a sense of exhaustion. No
creature of her sex was ever played upon like an instrument with more
Machiavellian penetration than the marquise throughout this week.
"Yes, you are happy, but I!" she said,--"to know of Conti's
infidelities, and have to bear them!"
"Why not leave him?" said Camille, seeing the hour had come to strike
a decisive blow.
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