"Charmingly, my sister."
She laughed at the way I said it, because I spoke with perfect resignation.
The thread running through all my other experiences of the evening had been admiration of Grace. Pleased as I was with this society, I had compared her with each of the best members of it, to her advantage. She had in her young way, the dignity of Madame de Rheims; all the gracefulness of the Southern girl with the pretty eyes; beauty as striking, though not the same as that girl's sister; the gaiety of Chinic; and now I was to find that she was apparently as cultured as Mde. Fauteux. For she did talk seriously and brightly about books and languages and artistic subjects:
"I would abhor beyond everything a life of fashionable vanity. My desire for life is to always keep progressing."
Whilst she talked I was reflecting, and mechanically looking around at the divisions into nooks.
"Don't you think this arrangement inviting, Chamilly? It has a history.
An engagement has taken place in each of these alcoves except one."
I looked around at them again; then asked:
"Which is the one?"
"The alcove we are in, mon frère."
I glanced at her, the moonlight still falling brokenly-upon the Venus head, and could see a crimson blush sweep over her countenance and her eyelids droop.