“Very absurd,” said Mathilde as if she were talking to herself, “but he has done something. I want to see a man; bring him to me,” she said to the scandalized marquis.
Comte Altamira was one of the most avowed admirers of mademoiselle de la Mole’s haughty and impertinent manner. In his opinion she was one of the most beautiful persons in Paris.
“How fine she would be on a throne,” he said to M. de Croisenois; and made no demur at being taken up to Mathilde.
There are a good number of people in society who would like to establish the fact that nothing is in such bad form as a conspiracy, in the nineteenth century; it smacks of Jacobinism. And what could be more sordid than unsuccessful Jacobinism.
Mathilde’s expression made fun a little of Altamira and M. de Croisenois, but she listened to him with pleasure.
“A conspirator at a ball, what a pretty contrast,” she thought. She thought that this man with his black moustache looked like a lion at rest, but she soon perceived that his mind had only one point of view: utility, admiration for utility.
The young comte thought nothing worthy his attention except what tended to give his country two chamber government. He left Mathilde, who was the prettiest person at the ball, with alacrity, because he saw a Peruvian general come in. Desparing of Europe such as M. de Metternich had arranged it, poor Altamira had been reduced to thinking that when the States of South America had become strong and powerful they could restore to Europe the liberty which Mirabeau has given it.
A crowd of moustachised young men had approached Mathilde. She realized that Altamira had not felt allured, and was piqued by his departure. She saw his black eye gleam as he talked to the Peruvian general. Mademoiselle de la Mole looked at the young Frenchmen with that profound seriousness which none of her rivals could imitate, “which of them,” she thought, “could get himself condemned to death, even supposing he had a favourable opportunity?”
This singular look flattered those who were not very intelligent, but disconcerted the others. They feared the discharge of some stinging epigram that would be difficult to answer.
“Good birth vouchsafes a hundred qualities whose absence would offend me. I see as much in the case of Julien,” thought Mathilde, “but it withers up those qualities of soul which make a man get condemned to death.”