V
Versailles for me is always full of charms. There is a dignity about it which reminds me of grandmamma. I love to walk in the galleries and look at the portraits of the great ladies of the past. The gay insouciance of their expressions, the daintiness of their poses, the beautiful and suitable color of everything give me a sense of satisfaction and repose.
I had been there for some little while, spending days of peace and reflection, when, nearly eight months after the death of Augustus, I received two letters.
It was a most curious coincidence that neither of my correspondents had written to me before, even letters of condolence, and that they should select the same date now.
The letters were from Antony and the Duke. They were both characteristic.
"Comtesse," Antony wrote, "you know I am thinking of you always. When may I come and see you, and where?"
The Duke's was longer. It began conventionally, and went on in delicate language to tell me that time was passing, and surely soon I must be thinking of seeing my friends again, and he was entirely at my disposition when I should return to England.
This amused me. Antony's caused me a wave of joy. Oh! should I be able to take the Marquis's advice and wait for several years? I feared not.
Of course, I should not think of marrying Antony yet. It would be absolutely indecent haste. Certainly not for eighteen months or two years, anyway. But there could be no harm in my seeing him soon.
Excitement tingled to my very finger-tips at the thought. I did not answer either letter for nearly a week. I walked about the gardens at Versailles and luxuriously enjoyed my musings.