o three
shifts. In the first place, they declare that we cannot love as they
love. (Coquetry! the Marquise simply threw it at me, like a challenge,
this evening!) Next they grow pathetic, to appeal to our natural
generosity or self-love; for does it not flatter a young man's vanity to
console a woman for a great calamity? And lastly, they have a craze for
virginity. She must have thought that I thought her very innocent. My
good faith is like to become an excellent speculation."

But a day came when every suspicious idea was exhausted. He asked
himself whether the Marquise was not sincere; whether so much suffering
could be feigned, and why she should act the part of resignation? She
lived in complete seclusion; she drank in silence of a cup of sorrow
scarcely to be guessed unless from the accent of some chance exclamation
in a voice always well under control. From that moment Charles felt a
keen interest in Mme. d'Aiglemont. And yet, though his visits had come
to be a recognized thing, and in some sort a necessity to them both,
and though the hour was kept free by tacit agreement, Vandenesse still
thought that this woman with whom he was in love was more clever than
sincere. "Decidedly, she is an uncommonly clever woman," he used to say
to himself as he went away.

When he came into the room, there was the Marquise in her favorite
attitude, melancholy expressed in her whole form. She made no movement
when he entered, only raised her eyes and looked full at him, but the
glance that she gave him was like a smile. Mme. d'Aiglemont's manner
meant confidence and sincere friendship, but of love there was no trace.
Charles sat down and found nothing to say. A sensation for which no
language exists troubled him.

"What is the matter with you?" she asked in a softened voice.

"Nothing.... Yes; I am thinking of something of which, as yet, you have
not thought at all."

"What is it?"

"Why--the Congress is over."

"Well," she said, "and ought you to have been at the Congress?"

A direct answer would have been the most eloquent and delicate
declaration of love; but Charles did not make it. Before the candid
friendship in Mme. d'Aiglemont's face all the calculations of vanity,
the hopes of love, and the diplomatist's doubts died away. She did not
suspect, or she seemed not to suspect, his love for her; and Charles,
in utter confusion turning upon himself, was forced to admit that he had
said and done nothing which could w