"Ah! I hate this hôtel, the noise and the women!" said Adrienne. "This horde ranged about the buffet, this salon turned into a restaurant, the false salutations, the commonplace protestations,—this society, all this society, I detest it!—I will have no more of it!—It seems to me that it all is mocking me, and that its smiles are only for that courtesan!—But if I had driven her out?—Who brought her?"
"Her uncle and Monsieur de Rosas!"
"Monsieur de Rosas?"
"Who marries her!"
Adrienne nervously uttered a loud, harsh laugh, as painful as if it were caused by a spasm.
"Who marries her! Then these creatures are married?—Ah! they are married—They are honored, too, are they not? And because they are more easy of approach, they are thought more beautiful and more agreeable than those who are merely honest wives? Ah! it is too silly!—Rosas! I took him for a man of sense!—If I were to tell him myself that she is my husband's mistress, what would the duke answer?"
"He would not believe you, and you would not do that, madame!" said Lissac.
"Because it would be an act of cowardice, and because you are the best, the noblest of women!"
Instinctively he drew near her, lowering his voice, embracing with his glance that fine, charming beauty, that grief heightened by a burning brilliancy.