She was like a fisherman who
lifts his line from time to time to see if the fish is biting. The
poor count allowed himself to be deceived by the innocent air with
which she accepted two or three neatly turned compliments. Emigration,
Brittany, the Republic, and the Chouans were far indeed from his
thoughts. Hulot sat erect and silent as the god Thermes. His want of
education made him quite incapable of taking part in a conversation of
this kind; he supposed that the talking pair were very witty, but his
efforts at comprehension were limited to discovering whether they were
plotting against the Republic in covert language.
"Montauran," the count was saying, "has birth and breeding, he is a
charming fellow, but he doesn't understand gallantry. He is too young
to have seen Versailles. His education is deficient. Instead of
diplomatically defaming, he strikes a blow. He may be able to love
violently, but he will never have that fine flower of breeding in his
gallantry which distinguished Lauzun, Adhemar, Coigny, and so many
others! He hasn't the winning art of saying those pretty nothings to
women which, after all, they like better than bursts of passion, which
soon weary them. Yes, though he has undoubtedly had many love-affairs,
he has neither the grace nor the ease that should belong to them."
"I have noticed that myself," said Marie.
Pages:
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301