He was full of his idea, he had completely mastered it,
and he seemed to look down on Madame de Cintre, with all her gathered
elegance, from the height of his bracing good conscience. It is probable
that this particular tone and manner were the very best he could have
hit upon. Yet the light, just visibly forced smile with which his
companion had listened to him died away, and she sat looking at him
with her lips parted and her face as solemn as a tragic mask. There was
evidently something very painful to her in the scene to which he was
subjecting her, and yet her impatience of it found no angry voice.
Newman wondered whether he was hurting her; he could not imagine why the
liberal devotion he meant to express should be disagreeable. He got up
and stood before her, leaning one hand on the chimney-piece. "I know I
have seen you very little to say this," he said, "so little that it may
make what I say seem disrespectful. That is my misfortune! I could have
said it the first time I saw you. Really, I had seen you before; I had
seen you in imagination; you seemed almost an old friend. So what I say
is not mere gallantry and compliments and nonsense--I can't talk that
way, I don't know how, and I wouldn't, to you, if I could. It's as
serious as such words can be. I feel as if I knew you and knew what a
beautiful, admirable woman you are.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187