At this explanation of the countess's meaning, as regarded Madame d'Harville's imagined dislike for her husband, a heavy load seemed taken from her; the working of her lip ceased, and she replied:
"Let me assure you M. d'Harville is neither peevish nor jealous." Then, as if searching for some means of breaking a conversation so painful to her feelings, she suddenly exclaimed, "Ah! here comes that tiresome friend of my husband's, the Duke de Lucenay. I hope he has not seen us. Where can he have sprung from? I thought he was a thousand miles off!"
"It was reported that he had gone somewhere in the East for a year or two, and behold, at the end of five months, here he is back again! His unexpected arrival must have sadly annoyed the Duchess de Lucenay, though poor De Lucenay is a very inoffensive creature," said Sarah, with an ill-natured smile. "Nor will Madame de Lucenay be the only one to feel vexation at his thus changing his mind; her friend, M. de St. Remy, will duly and affectionately sympathise in all her regrets on the subject."
"Come, come, my dear Sarah, I cannot allow you to scandalise; say that this return of M. de Lucenay is a nuisance to everybody; the duke is sufficiently disagreeable for you to generalise the regret his unexpected presence occasions."
"I do not slander, I merely repeat. It is also said that M. de St. Remy, the model of our young élégantes, whose splendid doings have filled all Paris, is all but ruined! 'Tis true, he has by no means reduced either his establishment or his expenditure; however, there are several ways of accounting for that; in the first place, Madame de Lucenay is immensely rich."
"What a horrible idea!"
"Still I only repeat what others say. There, the duke sees us; he is coming towards us; we must resign ourselves to our fate,—miserable, is it not? I know nothing so hard to bear as that man's company; he makes himself so very disagreeable, and then laughs so disgustingly loud at the silly things he says. Indeed, he is so boisterous that the bare idea of him makes one think of pretending to faint, or any other pretext, to avoid him. Talking of fainting, pray let me beg of you, if you have the least regard for your fan or essence-bottle, to beware how you allow him to handle either, for he has the unfortunate habit of breaking whatever he touches, and all with the most facetious self-satisfied air imaginable."
END OF VOLUME I.
Transcriber's Notes:
This e-text was prepared from numbered edition 505 of the 1000 printed.