Every gesture betrayed to him the soul, every motion a
new aspect of the young girl. If a thought stirred those mobile
features, if a sudden blush suffused the cheeks, or a smile brought
life into the face, he found a fresh delight in trying to discover the
secrets of this mysterious creature. Everything about her was a snare
to the soul and a snare to the senses. Even the silence that fell
between them, far from raising an obstacle to the understanding of
their hearts, became the common ground for mutual thoughts. But after
a while the many looks in which their eyes encountered each other
warned Marie de Verneuil that the silence was compromising her, and
she turned to Madame du Gua with one of those commonplace remarks
which open the way to conversation; but even in so doing she included
the young man.
"Madame," she said, "how could you put your son into the navy? have
you not doomed yourself to perpetual anxiety?"
"Mademoiselle, the fate of women, of mothers, I should say, is to
tremble for the safety of their dear ones."
"Your son is very like you."
"Do you think so, mademoiselle?"
The smile with which the young man listened to these remarks increased
the vexation of his pretended mother. Her hatred grew with every
passionate glance he turned on Marie. Silence or conversation, all
increased the dreadful wrath which she carefully concealed beneath a
cordial manner.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151