Mademoiselle de Verneuil feigned surprise and seemed confused that the
count should see her in such a negligent attitude; then, after reading
in his eyes that her first effect was produced, she rose and busied
herself about her guests with well-bred courtesy. There was nothing
studied or forced in her motions, smiles, behavior, or voice, nothing
that betrayed premeditation or purpose. All was harmonious; no part
was over-acted; an observer could not have supposed that she affected
the manners of a society in which she had not lived. When the Royalist
and the Republic were seated she looked sternly at the count. He, on
his part, knew women sufficiently well to feel certain that the
offence he had committed against this woman was equivalent to a
sentence of death. But in spite of this conviction, and without
seeming either gay or gloomy, he had the air of a man who did not take
such serious results into consideration; in fact, he really thought it
ridiculous to fear death in presence of a pretty woman. Marie's stern
manner roused ideas in his mind.
"Who knows," thought he, "whether a count's coronet wouldn't please
her as well as that of her lost marquis? Montauran is as lean as a
nail, while I--" and he looked himself over with an air of
satisfaction. "At any rate I should save my head."
These diplomatic revelations were wasted.
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