"Am I ill?" she replied, with a forced laugh. "I was going to ask you
the same question."
"I supposed you understood each other," remarked Madame du Gua with
specious kindliness.
Neither the young man nor Mademoiselle de Verneuil replied. The girl,
doubly insulted, was angered at feeling her powerful beauty powerless.
She knew she could discover the cause of the present situation the
moment she chose to do so; but, for the first time, perhaps, a woman
recoiled before a secret. Human life is sadly fertile in situations
where, as a result of either too much meditation or of some
catastrophe, our thoughts seem to hold to nothing; they have no
substance, no point of departure, and the present has no hooks by
which to hold to the past or fasten on the future. This was
Mademoiselle de Verneuil's condition at the present moment. Leaning
back in the carriage, she sat there like an uprooted shrub. Silent and
suffering, she looked at no one, wrapped herself in her grief, and
buried herself so completely in the unseen world, the refuge of the
miserable, that she saw nothing around her. Crows crossed the road in
the air above them cawing, but although, like all strong hearts, hers
had a superstitious corner, she paid no attention to the omen. The
party travelled on in silence. "Already parted?" Mademoiselle de
Verneuil was saying to herself.
Pages:
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179