The possible simplicity of a strong and much tried character, good or
bad, altogether escaped him, and even an occasional unrestrained word or
gesture failed to convince him that he was on the wrong track. To tell
the truth, he was as yet very inexperienced. His visits to Maria
Consuelo passed in making light conversation. He tried to amuse her, and
succeeded fairly well, while at the same time he indulged in endless and
fruitless speculations as to her former life, her present intentions and
her sentiments with regard to himself. He would have liked to lead her
into talking of herself, but he did not know where to begin. It was not
a part of his system to believe in mysteries concerning people, but
when he reflected upon the matter he was amazed at the impenetrability
of the barrier which cut him off from all knowledge of her life. He soon
heard the tales about her which were carelessly circulated at the club,
and he listened to them without much interest, though he took the
trouble to deny their truth on his own responsibility, which surprised
the men who knew him and gave rise to the story that he was in love with
Madame d'Aranjuez.
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