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Calyste, with the headlong impulse of
love, flung himself heedlessly on the sofa beside the marquise, took
her hand, and slipped the letter within it. He did this so rapidly
that Felicite, watchful as she was, did not perceive it. Calyste's
heart was tingling with an emotion half sweet, half painful, as he
felt the hand of Beatrix press his own, and saw her, without
interrupting her words, or seeming in the least disconcerted, slip the
letter into her glove.
"You fling yourself on a woman's dress without mercy," she said,
laughing.
"Calyste is a boy who is wanting in common-sense," said Felicite, not
sparing him an open rebuke.
Calyste rose, took Camille's hand, and kissed it. Then he went to the
piano and ran his finger-nail over the notes, making them all sound at
once, like a rapid scale. This exuberance of joy surprised Camille,
and made her thoughtful; she signed to Calyste to come to her.
"What is the matter with you?" she whispered in his ear.
"Nothing," he replied.
"There is something between them," thought Mademoiselle des Touches.


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