Part 11 (1/2)
”Yesterday I was not alone with you How could I say what lay next my heart, when indifferent ears could catch the words that were meant only for you?”
”Ah, land how to make pretty speeches?”
”No, mademoiselle, that is an instinct that comes into birth by the fire of a wo upon a sn, with cushi+ons covered in faded silks heaped round her pretty head Arht that she looked like that carved cauerite possessed
He himself sat on a low chair at soe bunch of early violets, for he knew that she was fond of flowers, and these lay upon her lap, against the opalescent grey of her gown
She seeitated, his obvious ad a ready blush to her cheeks
The room itself appeared to Ar picture which she presented The furniture in it was small and old; tiny tables of antique Vernis-Martin, softly faded tapestries, a pale-toned Aubusson carpet Everything e, as an orphan, lived alone under the duennashi+p of a er-on of the successful young actress, who acted as her chaperone, housekeeper, and allants at bay
She told Armand all about her early life, her childhood in the backshop of Maitre Meziere, the jeweller, as a relative of her les with the middle-class prejudices of her relations, her bold defiance of them, and final independence
She in, her want of education in those days; on the contrary, she was proud of what she had accoe, and already held a leading place in the artistic world of Paris
Ar she said, questioning her with syood deal about hiuerite, who, of course, had been the most brilliant star in that most brilliant constellation, the Couerite St
Just act, but, of course, Paris still rang with her praises, and all art-lovers regretted that she should have married and left them to mourn for her
Thus the conversation drifted naturally back to England Mademoiselle professed a vast interest in the citizen's country of adoption
”I had always,” she said, ”thought it an ugly country, with the noise and bustle of industrial life going on everywhere, and s to cover the landscape and to stunt the trees”
”Then, in future, mademoiselle,” he replied, ”must you think of it as one carpeted with verdure, where in the spring the orchard trees covered with delicate blossorass stretches its velvety surface in the shadow of ancient monumental oaks, and ivy-covered towers rear their stately crowns to the sky”
”And the Scarlet Pimpernel? Tell me about him, monsieur”
”Ah, mademoiselle, what can I tell you that you do not already know? The Scarlet Pimpernel is a man who has devoted his entire existence to the benefit of suffering ht, and that is for those who need him; he hears but one sound the cry of the oppressed”
”But they do say, monsieur, that philanthropy plays but a sorry part in your hero's schemes They aver that he looks on his own efforts and the adventures through which he goes only in the light of sport”
”Like all Englishmen, mademoiselle, the Scarlet Pimpernel is a little ashamed of sentiment He would deny its very existence with his lips, even whilst his noble heart bri instinct is as keen as that of charity--the race for lives, the tussle for the rescue of hu of a life on the hazard of a die”
”They fear him in France, monsieur He has saved so many whose death had been decreed by the Committee of Public Safety”
”Please God, he will save many yet”
”Ah, monsieur, the poor little boy in the Temple prison!”
”He has your syht-minded woesture of enthusias at Are eyes filled with tears, ”if your noble Scarlet Piht to save that poor innocent lamb, I would indeed bless hiht if I could”
”May God's saints bless you for those words, mademoiselle,” he said, whilst, carried away by her beauty, her charm, her perfect femininity, he stooped towards her until his knee touched the carpet at her feet ”I had begun to lose uided country, to think all men in France vile, and all women base I could thank you on my knees for your sords of sympathy, for the expression of tender motherliness that came into your eyes when you spoke of the poor forsaken Dauphin in the Temple”