She thought she could see that somethingstrange was
occurring between Armance and her son.
I think their women very pretty, Armance went on.
He underwent no attack of misanthropy, shewed nodesire to quarrel openly with the
man.
His heart was beguiled by the happiness that he
owed toArmance. Octave accompanied MadamedAumale everywhere, as for instance to the
Italian theatre.
His are honeyed; it is a form that rudemanners
take, when they are frightened.
Less than a month after this first encounter,
people began to say thatthe Vicomte had succeeded M. Butit rests with me carefully
to avoid the man if the colour of his hairannoys me.
Armances astonishment and distress were
intense.
Need it be said that Octave was faithful to his
promise?
Theglance that sometimes accompanied them! I will
notappear any more in those places in which your friend ought never tohave been
seen.
Butin that drawing-room I have the misfortune not
to be just like any oneelse.
His confidences were not always free from peril for
the girl. I should bein despair, Octave sharply retorted.
Doubtless; but to forget thetitle, in giving my
name to M.
He repeated incessantly tohimself: It was childish
of me to choose a girl as my friend. Octave, his face pressed to the window,
continued by himself thecourse of his sombre reflexions.
Always hunting, the beauty of the country,Rossinis
music, the fine arts!
My fair cousin is notsatisfied, he said to himself,
with illustrious birth, an immensefortune.
She could barely answer him; shehad not the
strength to speak.
I wouldwager that they have more intelligence than
many of us.
And how angry it makes me to belong to it!
Beginning often to speak without knowinghow his sentence would end. Not a day
passedbut, as she saw him set off for Paris, she was tempted to tell him thetruth.
Beginning often to speak without knowinghow his sentence would end.
And the class that has most affectation, because it
thinks thatpeople are watching it. Beginning often to speak without knowinghow his
sentence would end.
It was a childish simplicity that shone inthe
manners of Madame dAumale.
Any one but Octave would havebeen able to read in
them an _expression_ of the warmest passion. I was quite sure that he did not mean
tocontradict me; but his rudeness kept me silent for an hour. Is it possible,
thought Madame de Malivert, that Octave can be sotimid as that? It seems to me that
beneath acloak of clever talk it proscribes all energy, all originality.