“Madame de Bergenheim,” continued the artist, with affectation, “is certainly far above the gossip of a scoundrel of this kind.”
Reine pursed up her lips, but made no reply.
“She has too many good qualities and virtues for people to believe anything he says.”
“Oh, as to that, there are hypocrites among the Parisian ladies as well as elsewhere,” said the young girl, with a sour look.
“Bless me!” thought Marillac, “we have it now. I’d wager my last franc that I’ll loosen her tongue.”
“Madame de Bergenheim,” he replied, emphasizing each word, “is such a good woman, so sensible and so pretty!”
“Mon Dieu! say that you love her at once, then—that’ll be plain talk,” exclaimed Reine, suddenly disengaging herself from the arm which was still about her waist. “A great lady who has her carriages and footmen in livery is a conquest to boast of! While a country girl, who has only her virtue—”
She lowered her eyes with an air of affected modesty, and did not finish her sentence.
“A virtue which grants a rendezvous at the end of three days’ acquaintance, and in the depths of the woods! That is amusing!” thought the artist.
“Still, you will not be the first of the fine lady’s lovers,” she continued, raising her head and trying to conceal her vexation under an ironical air.