“Oh, no!”
“And you have no love-affairs here?”
“Do you think then that one must absolutely have love-affairs when one goes to a watering-place?”
“I don’t say that, but I think you are a most original person.”
“Original? no, I assure you that there are many men like me.”
She left me, after glancing at me with a singular expression. Did she desire to number me among her numerous conquests? It was possible; what she had just said to me might give me a poor idea of her virtue. An unmarried woman who considers it strange that a man has no love-affairs! And yet, I preferred to think that that was simply due to her original character.
I had been a fortnight at Mont-d’Or, and I had intended to pass only one week there. But I was enjoying myself; the company was agreeable; however, if Caroline and her uncle had not been there, I should have gone away; I was becoming accustomed to their society. There was nothing to do there but converse, so that we were together almost all day. I was not making love to Caroline, but she was very pretty; her black eyes alternated in expression between gentleness and mischief. Although one be not in love, there is always a charm attached to the presence of a pretty woman; it was probably that charm which detained me.
There was not a ball or a concert in the assembly room every day; when there was none, we remained at the hotel, and those guests who were congenial met in the salon in the evening. Some played cards, but the greater number conversed. There were some titled persons, and they were not the most agreeable; but we left them to bore one another in their corner, and we chatted with the clever artist, who always had a store of amusing anecdotes in reserve, or with the lady’s man, who told us of his latest adventures. In that circle, Monsieur Roquencourt was not among those who talked least. If anyone mentioned a city, he had acted there; if anyone mentioned a famous personage, he had known an actor who had mimicked him to perfection, and he would proceed to give us a specimen.
I enjoyed listening; but I talked very little, and in what I did say, I did not mention myself. Caroline, who, for all her frivolous and coquettish air, observed very closely everything that took place in the salon, said to me one day:
“Monsieur Dalbreuse, everybody here tells us his or her own experiences; you alone have kept silent thus far. Why is it?”