She tried at first to doubt his words, but being by
nature confiding and trustful, she slowly regained an expression of
serenity, and said eagerly, "Monsieur, are you telling me the exact
truth?"
"Yes, the exact truth," replied the young man, who seemed to have no
conscience in his dealings with women.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil gave a deep sigh, like a person who returns
to life.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I am very happy."
"Then you hate that poor Montauran?"
"No," she said; "but I could not make you understand my meaning. I was
not willing that /you/ should meet the dangers from which I will try
to protect him,--since he is your friend."
"Who told you that Montauran was in danger?"
"Ah, monsieur, even if I had not come from Paris, where his enterprise
is the one thing talked of, the commandant at Alencon said enough to
show his danger."
"Then let me ask you how you expect to save him from it."
"Suppose I do not choose to answer," she replied, with the haughty air
that women often assume to hide an emotion. "What right have you to
know my secrets?"
"The right of a man who loves you."
"Already?" she said. "No, you do not love me. I am only an object of
passing gallantry to you,--that is all. I am clear-sighted; did I not
penetrate your disguise at once? A woman who knows anything of good
society could not be misled, in these days, by a pupil of the
Polytechnique who uses choice language, and conceals as little as you
do the manners of a /grand seigneur/ under the mask of a Republican.
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