upon
his knees, and laid his head on Diane's hand, weeping soft tears such
as the angels shed,--if angels weep. As Daniel was in that bent posture,
Madame de Cadignan could safely let a malicious smile of triumph flicker
on her lips, a smile such as the monkeys wear after playing a sly
trick--if monkeys smile.

"Ah! I have him," thought she; and, indeed, she had him fast.

"But you are--" he said, raising his fine head and looking at her with
eyes of love.

"Virgin and martyr," she replied, smiling at the commonness of that
hackneyed expression, but giving it a freshness of meaning by her smile,
so full of painful gayety. "If I laugh," she continued, "it is that I am
thinking of that princess whom the world thinks it knows, that Duchesse
de Maufrigneuse to whom it gives as lovers de Marsay, that infamous de
Trailles (a political cutthroat), and that little fool of a d'Esgrignon,
and Rastignac, Rubempre, ambassadors, ministers, Russian generals,
heaven knows who! all Europe! They have gossiped about that album which
I ordered made, believing that those who admired me were my friends. Ah!
it is frightful! I wonder that I allow a man at my feet! Despise them
all, THAT should be my religion."

She rose and went to the window with a gait and bearing magnificent in
motifs.

D'Arthez remained on the low seat to which he had returned not daring
to follow the princess; but he looked at her; he heard her blowing her
nose. Was there ever a princess who blew her nose? but Diane attempted
the impossible to convey an idea of her sensibility. D'Arthez believed
his angel was in tears; he rushed to her side, took her round the waist,
and pressed her to his heart.

"No, no, leave me!" she murmured in a feeble voice. "I have too many
doubts to be good for anything. To reconcile me with life is a task
beyond the powers of any man."

"Diane! I will love you for your whole lost life."

"No; don't speak to me thus," she answered. "At this moment I tremble, I
am ashamed as though I had committed the greatest sins."

She was now entirely restored to the innocence of little girls, and
yet her bearing was august, grand, noble as that of a queen. It is
impossible to describe the effect of these manoeuvres, so clever that
they acted like the purest truth on a soul as fresh and honest as that
of d'Arthez. The great author remained dumb with admiration, passive
beside her in the recess of that window awaiting a word, while the
princess aw