I knew then the meaning of the glance they exchanged when I approached them. But I did not like that: "We guessed as much"; that identity of thoughts and sentiments was by no means pleasing to me. I have always noticed that the women who tell each other everything, their inmost thoughts and the most secret impulses of their hearts, never have anything left to confide to their lovers. With them they act, but do not lay bare their hearts. Friendship is almost always injurious to love. That is not my understanding of a profound sentiment, a genuine attachment.—But what am I moralizing about?
I took the indefatigable Frédérique back to her friend. The handsome dandy was no longer there. I heard Madame Sordeville whisper:
"He has gone. He said he was going away; he was furious."
"Really? That doesn't disturb me in the least!"
But my gentleman had not gone. I saw him not far away. If he was jealous of me, he was sadly astray: I was thinking exclusively of Madame Sordeville and waiting impatiently for the quadrille, so that I could talk with her more freely.
That moment arrived at last. I stood up beside my partner; each cavalier did the same. O blessed moment! What an excellent invention is dancing!
I felt that I must make the most of my opportunity; I told Madame Sordeville that her husband had invited me to come to their house. She smiled, but made no reply. I could not rest content with that.
"May I hope to be so fortunate, madame, as to obtain from your lips a confirmation of the invitation I have received?"
"Whatever my husband does is well done, monsieur, and I can only approve it."
That was a courteous reply, but nothing more. It seemed as if my fair partner were distraught. It is never very flattering to one's self-esteem to have the person to whom one is talking thinking of something else; and when that person is a woman with whom one is in love, it is much more mortifying. I was on the point of making a declaration of love, but it did not pass my lips. Could it be possible that she was nothing more or less than a coquette who had been amusing herself at my expense? Nonsense! Had I already forgotten all that she had done for me that evening? Wounded self-esteem often makes us very unjust. I determined to wait and not to go so fast, either in forming my judgments, or in my love.