I dare not trust myself to recall more of that scene: already are emotions struggling within me, the conflict of which this poor shattered heart is not equal to. The great trials of life are often easier burdens to memory than some flitting moment of passionate existence, some one brief hour of mingled hope and fear.
Margot's friend—it was Mademoiselle Mars herself—felt the liveliest interest in the story of our first meeting, my boyish duel and—why should I not say it?—my boyish love. She took pleasure in hearing of every indication of that genius in infancy which she had seen so splendidly displayed in womanhood, and asked me for traits of Margot's childhood with the greatest eagerness.
Margot—the first excitement over—seemed sad and dispirited; she even showed impatience once or twice as Mademoiselle Mars insisted on hearing some little incident of childhood, and then abruptly said,—
“And you, Monsieur, how has the world treated you since we met?”
“Not so flatteringly; I am not spoiled by Fortune.”
“Nor am I,” said she, hastily taking up my words.
“No, dearest, that you are not,” cried the other. “You are as first I knew you, generous, warm-hearted, and kind.”
“I mean,” said Margot, “that these successes have not made me vain nor proud; that I know how to esteem them at their true price, and feel, moreover, how in my heart there lives a spirit above all this loud-tongued flattery.”
Mademoiselle Mars looked at me while she spoke, and I thought that her eyes conveyed the strangest meaning. There was admiration, indeed, but blended with something of tender pity and compassion. What would I not have given to have been able to read this glance aright! No time was given me to think on the theme, for Margot now, with a kind of half impetuous curiosity, asked me for my adventures.
“Tell us all, everything,” said she, laughingly,—“your successes, your failures, your hopes, your loves, your joys and sorrows. I am eager to hear if Fortune has not dealt more generously by you than me. This splendid preparation here”—and she pointed to the dinner-table—“would seem to say much.”