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Page 16
CHAPTER VI.
THE MARQUISE INTERCEDES.
_1st October._
Paul, there is something going on here that does not please me. I would
like to have your advice; send it as soon as possible.
On Thursday morning, after finishing my letter, I went down to give it to
the messenger, who leaves quite early; then, as it only wanted a few
minutes of the breakfast-hour, I walked into the drawing-room, which was
still empty. I was quietly looking over a review by the fireside, when the
door was suddenly flung open; I heard the crushing and rustling of a silk
dress too broad to get easily through an aperture three feet wide, and I
saw the Little Countess appear: she had spent the night at the chateau.
If you remember the unfortunate conversation in which I had become
entangled, the previous evening, and which Madame de Palme had overheard
from beginning to end, you will readily understand that this lady was the
last person in the world with whom it might prove pleasant to find myself
alone that morning.
I rose and I addressed to her a deep courtsey; she replied with a nod,
which, though slight, was still more than I deserved from her. The first
steps she took in the parlor after she had seen me were stamped with
hesitation and a sort of wavering; it was like the action of a partridge
lightly hit on the wing and somewhat stunned by the shot. Would she go to
the piano, to the window, to the right or to the left, or opposite? It was
clear that she did not know herself; but indecision is not the weak point
of her disposition; she soon made up her mind, and crossing the immense
drawing room with very firm step, she came in the direction of the
chimney, that is, toward my immediate domain.
Standing in front of my arm-chair with my review in my hand, I was
awaiting the event with an apparent gravity that concealed but
imperfectly, I fear, a rather powerful inward anxiety. I had indeed every
reason to apprehend an explanation and a scene. In every circumstance of
this kind, the natural feelings of our heart and the refinement which
education and the habits of society add to them, the absolute freedom of
the attack and the narrow limits allowed to the defense, give to women an
overwhelming superiority over any man who is not a boor or a lover. In the
particular crisis that was threatening me, the stinging consciousness of
my wrongs, the recollection of the almost insulting form under which my
offense had manifested itself, united to deprive me of all thought of
resistance; I found myself delivered over, bound hand and foot, to the
frightful wrath of a young and imperious woman thirsting for vengeance. My
attitude was, therefore, not very brilliant.
Madame de Palme stopped within two steps of me, spread her right hand on
the marble of the mantel, and extended toward the blazing hearth the
bronzed slipper within which her left foot was held captive. Having
accomplished these preliminary dispositions, she turned toward me, and
without addressing me a single word, she seemed to enjoy my countenance,
which, I repeat, was not worth much. I resolved to sit down again and
resume my reading; but previously, and by way of transition, I thought
best to say politely:
"Wouldn't you like to have this review, madam?"
"Thank you, sir, I cannot read."
Such was the answer that was promptly shot off at me in a brief tone of
voice. I made with my head and my hand a courteous gesture, by which I
seemed to sympathize gently with the infirmity that was thus revealed to
me, after which I sat down, feeling more easy. I had drawn my adversary's
fire. Honor seemed to me satisfied.
Nevertheless, after a few moments of silence, I began again to feel the
awkwardness of my situation; I strove in vain to become absorbed in my
reading; I kept seeing a multitude of little bronzed slippers dancing all
over the paper. An open scene would have appeared to me decidedly
preferable to this unpleasant and persistent proximity, to the mute
hostility betrayed to my furtive glance by Madame de Palme's restless
foot, the jingle of her rings on the marble mantel, and the quivering
mobility of her nostrils. I therefore unconsciously uttered a sigh of
relief when the door, opening suddenly, introduced upon the stage a new
personage, whom I felt justified in considering as an ally.
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