‘Of course, of course,’ said the Duc, seating himself on the edge of the table. ‘But not many of your rank. Most people got away. Ah, to be sure, I remember your uncles de Creusac were both shot; yes, we all lost heavily; it is no use thinking of it; but I would give my life to enter Berlin. Tiens! this is not what I came to say, but you make one serious; why will you not laugh? Do you know that we have a ball next week?’
‘I heard Blanchette saying so.’
‘Ah, the little cat! She knows everything. Now, this ball—would you not like to come to it, instead of being shut up in your room writing crabbed German characters?’
‘It is impossible.’
While she said the cruel word firmly, her heart gave a great leap of longing that was almost hope.
‘Not impossible; perhaps difficult,’ said de Vannes, with a smile as he threw his cigar out on to the grass. ‘But I think I could persuade Cri-Cri; it is a shame for you to be shut up; you will have enough of that all your life if you go where they say.’
Yseulte was silent; her heart was still beating tumultuously, she breathed quickly.
‘How handsome she is!’ thought the Duc. ‘She only wants that flush of life to be perfect. Women are like alabaster lamps, unlit until they learn envy and desire. When that flame is lighted, then the alabaster glows.’
He stooped his head and kissed her hand, but he did it with a different touch to Othmar’s, and she coloured with a sense of pain and anger.