and, in the face of
a look of pride worthy of an aristocrat, the familiarity he had intended
fell dead. By a glance Francesca made herself a princess, with all the
prerogatives she might have enjoyed in the Middle Ages. She seemed
to have read the thoughts of this vassal who was so audacious as to
constitute himself her protector.

Already, in the furniture of the room where Francesca had received him,
in her dress, and in the various trifles she made use of, Rodolphe had
detected indications of a superior character and a fine fortune. All
these observations now recurred to his mind; he became thoughtful after
having been trampled on, as it were, by Francesca's dignity. Gina, her
half-grown-up _confidante_, also seemed to have a mocking expression
as she gave a covert or a side glance at Rodolphe. This obvious
disagreement between the Italian lady's rank and her manners was a fresh
puzzle to Rodolphe, who suspected some further trick like Gina's assumed
dumbness.

"Where would you go, Signora Lamporani?" he asked.

"Towards Lucerne," replied Francesca in French.

"Good!" said Rodolphe to himself, "she is not startled by hearing me
speak her name; she had, no doubt, foreseen that I should ask Gina--she
is so cunning.--What is your quarrel with me?" he went on, going at last
to sit down by her side, and asking her by a gesture to give him her
hand, which she withdrew. "You are cold and ceremonious; what, in
colloquial language, we should call _short_."

"It is true," she replied with a smile. "I am wrong. It is not good
manners; it is vulgar. In French you would call it inartistic. It is
better to be frank than to harbor cold or hostile feelings towards a
friend, and you have already proved yourself my friend. Perhaps I
have gone too far with you. You must take me to be a very ordinary
woman."--Rodolphe made many signs of denial.--"Yes," said the
bookseller's wife, going on without noticing this pantomime, which,
however, she plainly saw. "I have detected that, and naturally I have
reconsidered my conduct. Well! I will put an end to everything by a few
words of deep truth. Understand this, Rodolphe: I feel in myself the
strength to stifle a feeling if it were not in harmony with my ideas
or anticipation of what true love is. I could love--as we can love
in Italy, but I know my duty. No intoxication can make me forget it.
Married without my consent to that poor old man, I might take advantage
of the liberty he so ge