Sometimes mere pride can rise in acts as high as
virtue. Read thus, this history is that of many women.
The next morning Calyste went to Les Touches about mid-day. When he
reached the spot from which, the day before, he had seen Beatrix
watching for him at the window, he saw Camille, who instantly ran down
to him. She met him at the foot of the staircase and told the cruel
truth in one word,--
"Gone!"
"Beatrix?" asked Calyste, thunderstruck.
"You have been duped by Conti; you told me nothing, and I could do
nothing for you."
She led the poor fellow to her little salon, where he flung himself on
the divan where he had so often seen the marquise, and burst into
tears. Felicite smoked her hookah and said nothing, knowing well that
no words or thoughts are capable of arresting the first anguish of
such pain, which is always deaf and dumb. Calyste, unable even to
think, much less to choose a course, sat there all day in a state of
complete torpidity. Just before dinner was served, Camille tried to
say a few words, after begging him, very earnestly, to listen to her.
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