Moreover, this woman, so little aristocratic in intimacy, had much vanity about stupid things and a great passion for jewelry; but what contributed most to making Cæsar feel a profound hatred for her was his discovering what good health she enjoyed. This good health seemed offensive to Cæsar, above all when he compared it to his own, to his weak nerves and his restless brain.
From considering her a spiritual and delicate lady he passed to considering her a powerful mare, which deserved no more than a whip and spurs.
The love-affair contributed to upsetting Cæsar and making him more sarcastic and biting. This spiritual ulceration of Cæsar’s profoundly astonished Mlle. Cadet.
One day a Roman aristocrat, nothing less than a prince, came to call on Mme. Dawson. He talked with her, with her daughters, and the Countess Brenda, and held forth about whether the hotels in Rome were full or empty, about the pensions, and the food in the restaurants, with a great wealth of details; afterwards he lamented that Mme. Dawson, as a relative of his, even though a very distant one, should have gone to a ricevimento at the French Embassy, and he boasted of belonging to the Black party in Rome.
When he was gone, Mlle. Cadet came over to Cæsar, who was sunk in an arm-chair gazing at the ceiling, and asked him:
“What did you think of the prince?”
“What prince?”
“The gentleman who was here talking a moment ago.”
“Ah, was he a prince?”
“Yes.”