"
"You have the memory of a king," replied he, disconcerted at his own
awkwardness.
"To forgive injuries one must needs remember them," she said quickly,
relieving his embarrassment with a smile.
"Are we all included in that amnesty?" said the marquis, approaching
her.
But she darted away in the dance, with the gaiety of a child, leaving
him without an answer. He watched her coldly and sadly; she saw it,
and bent her head with one of those coquettish motions which the
graceful lines of her throat enabled her to make, omitting no movement
or attitude which could prove to him the perfection of her figure. She
attracted him like hope, and eluded him like a memory. To see her thus
was to desire to possess her at any cost. She knew that, and the sense
it gave her of her own beauty shed upon her whole person an
inexpressible charm. The marquis felt the storm of love, of rage, of
madness, rising in his heart; he wrung the count's hand violently, and
left the room.
"Is he gone?" said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, returning to her place.
The count gave her a glance and passed into the next room, from which
he presently returned accompanied by the Gars.
"He is mine!" she thought, observing his face in the mirror.
She received the young leader with a displeased air and said nothing,
but she smiled as she turned away from him; he was so superior to all
about him that she was proud of being able to rule him; and obeying an
instinct which sways all women more or less, she resolved to let him
know the value of a few gracious words by making him pay dear for
them.
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