"I have always been so," she answered. "I love the soft breath of the morning air."
"It is one of the great secrets of health and beauty," rejoined the Count; But she shook her head with a smile, saying,--
"Such are not my objects in early rising, Monsieur de Morseiul. Health I scarcely value as it deserves, as I never knew the want of it; and beauty I value not at all.--It is true! whatever you may think."
"Still, beauty has its value," replied the Count. "It is a grand and noble gift of God; but I acknowledge it ought to be the mint mark of the gold."
"It is one of the most dangerous gifts of Heaven," replied Clémence, vehemently. "It is often one of the most burdensome! It is dangerous to ourselves, to our own hearts, to our own eternal happiness. It is burdensome in all its consequences. Too much beauty to a woman is like overgrown wealth to a man:--with this sad difference, that he can always do good with his possession, and she can do none with hers. And now Monsieur de Morseiul thinks me a hypocrite; and, though he promised ever to be straightforward with me, he will not say so."
"Nay, indeed," replied the Count, "I am far from thinking that there is aught of hypocrisy in what you say, lady. I may think such feelings and thoughts evanescent with you, but I believe you feel them at the time."
Clémence shook her head with a melancholy--almost a reproachful look. "They are not evanescent," she said earnestly. "They are constant, steadfast; have been for years." Even while she spoke she turned to leave him; and he thought, as she quickly averted her head, that there was something like a tear in her bright eye.
He could not resist; and he followed her rapidly, saying, "I hope I have not offended."
"Oh no!" she answered, turning to him, and letting him see without disguise that the tear was really there; "oh no! Monsieur de Morseiul! There was nothing said that could offend me. Do you not know that, like a child putting its hand upon an instrument of music without knowing he will produce any sound, a mere casual word will often be spoken unconsciously, which, by some unseen mechanism in the breast of another, will awaken emotions which we never intended to call up? Our little conversation roused the thoughts of many years in a moment, but there was nothing said that could in the least offend. You know we vain women, Count," she added in a lighter mood, "are only offended with our lovers. It is on them that we pour forth our caprices. So, for Heaven's sake, take care how you become my lover, for then I should certainly be offended with you every five minutes."
"Would it be so terrible to you, then, to see me your lover?" demanded the Count in the same tone.