"
"You forget," she retorted, laughing, "half my attractions,--a
mysterious woman, with everything odd about her, name, rank,
situation, freedom of thought and manners."
"You are not mysterious to me!" he exclaimed. "I have fathomed you;
there is nothing that could be added to your perfections except a
little more faith in the love you inspire."
"Ah, my poor child of eighteen, what can you know of love?" she said
smiling. "Well, well, so be it!" she added, "it is a fair subject of
conversation, like the weather when one pays a visit. You shall find
that I have neither false modesty nor petty fears. I can hear the word
love without blushing; it has been so often said to me without one
echo of the heart that I think it quite unmeaning. I have met with it
everywhere, in books, at the theatre, in society,--yes, everywhere,
and never have I found in it even a semblance of its magnificent
ideal."
"Did you seek that ideal?"
"Yes."
The word was said with such perfect ease and freedom that the young
man made a gesture of surprise and looked at Marie fixedly, as if he
had suddenly changed his opinion on her character and real position.
"Mademoiselle," he said with ill-concealed devotion, "are you maid or
wife, angel or devil?"
"All," she replied, laughing. "Isn't there something diabolic and also
angelic in a young girl who has never loved, does not love, and
perhaps will never love?"
"Do you think yourself happy thus?" he asked with a free and easy tone
and manner, as though already he felt less respect for her.
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