"Bah, M. de Vimelle, who is ruined, is besides, the stupidest animal between Paris and Peru—Japan and Rome. She uses him as best she can."
"Nobody finds grace in your eyes."
"I go about with my eyes open."
"You had better close them."
Mlle. Rivière, who had won the last set, as well as all the preceding ones, came over to wish them good evening. Her dull complexion, heated by the game, had become a deep scarlet, and seemed to be burning. Her white teeth glistened. Her eyes sparkled.
"It is a great game," Philippe explained, close behind her, scorning the evident interest she showed. "Her whole soul is in her face."
For several days he had been familiarizing the young woman with all the scandals of their set, making her realize how unimportant they were considered. His insolent and distressing pessimism fell upon prepared soil. Elizabeth, after the shock of her father's conduct, found her illusions completely destroyed.
After many handshakes had been exchanged, tennis was given up. Although the mountains were still covered with the oblique rays of the sun, the valley was in shadow.
There was a definite line of demarcation between themselves and the others. Nobody had joined them. They alone remained behind, as if their tête-à-tête were respected. Vaguely disturbed by this seclusion, Elizabeth directed their steps towards the Mélèzes.
"When the night comes on here it looks as though the mountains were coming nearer and the pine trees were drawing nearer, as if to envelop us."