At other times she gave way to the most violent explosions of contempt for all these spiteful and envious persons, and would break forth with the most cutting sarcasms, sparing no one. This was one of the reasons of her having so many bitter enemies.
A circumstance that I thought strange was that, in spite of all that was said about her levity, I had never seen a single man who appeared to be on terms of intimacy with her, or any one in whom she could be supposed to take any affectionate interest.
If, then, I loved Madame de Pënâfiel, it was not with that fresh, pure, passionate love I had felt for Hélène, it was a sentiment in which love and curiosity were strangely allied to distrust; for, although I condemned the absurd calumnies of the world, I was often quite as foolish and quite as unjust as other people.
Although I had seen Madame de Pënâfiel constantly for nearly three months, I had never breathed a word of gallantry. This was as much through calculation as distrust. I had found her to be so essentially different from the portrait the world had drawn of her, that I could not help thinking at times of what I had heard, and wondering if she were as false as she was accused of being. Therefore, I wished to study her more fully, before allowing myself to be carried away on the current of a declaration, whose refusal I did not wish to risk, for I am ready to declare that Madame de Pënâfiel was very seductive.
Among her other delightful faults, what charmed me most was her coquetry, which was quite peculiar.
It was not shown by any pretended demonstrations of solicitude, or by a flattering way of receiving a friend, flattery which is usually as deceptive as it is encouraging. No; her nature was too proud and independent to permit her to stoop to such means of winning admirers.
Her coquetry was entirely in the perfect gracefulness that she wished, and knew how, to impart to her every motion, to those poses that were apparently the least studied. No doubt all that grace was calculated, reasoned out, if I may say so, but habit had so harmonised the enchanting art with the native elegance of her manners that it was impossible to gaze on anything more charming. Besides, when it is a question of exquisite manners, naturalness can never bear a comparison with studied politeness, any more than the pale wild flower of the eglantine can compare in size, colour, and perfume with the cultivated hothouse rose.
Madame de Pënâfiel admitted, with delightful sincerity, that she took the greatest pleasure in dressing beautifully and tastefully, so that she might look pretty; that she loved to see her graceful attitudes reflected in a mirror; and that she did not see why a woman should be ashamed any more of adorning her body than cultivating her mind,—that people should study how to take an elegant and proper pose as well as to speak properly and wittily.
She declared that she practised these graces more to please herself than others, who, she said, never knew how to flatter her properly, while she herself knew exactly how much she was entitled to; so she preferred her own admiration, and always craved it.
One would scarcely believe to what a point Madame de Pënâfiel carried this art of making pictures.