|Subject:||[Gnatsweb-commit] concentrated prognosis|
|Date:||Mon, 18 Sep 2006 02:52:11 +0200|
She thought she could see that somethingstrange was occurring between Armance and her son.
I think their women very pretty, Armance went on. He underwent no attack of misanthropy, shewed nodesire to quarrel openly with the man.
His heart was beguiled by the happiness that he owed toArmance. Octave accompanied MadamedAumale everywhere, as for instance to the Italian theatre.
His are honeyed; it is a form that rudemanners take, when they are frightened.
Less than a month after this first encounter, people began to say thatthe Vicomte had succeeded M. Butit rests with me carefully to avoid the man if the colour of his hairannoys me.
Armances astonishment and distress were intense.
Need it be said that Octave was faithful to his promise?
Theglance that sometimes accompanied them! I will notappear any more in those places in which your friend ought never tohave been seen.
Butin that drawing-room I have the misfortune not to be just like any oneelse.
His confidences were not always free from peril for the girl. I should bein despair, Octave sharply retorted.
Doubtless; but to forget thetitle, in giving my name to M.
He repeated incessantly tohimself: It was childish of me to choose a girl as my friend. Octave, his face pressed to the window, continued by himself thecourse of his sombre reflexions.
Always hunting, the beauty of the country,Rossinis music, the fine arts!
My fair cousin is notsatisfied, he said to himself, with illustrious birth, an immensefortune.
She could barely answer him; shehad not the strength to speak.
I wouldwager that they have more intelligence than many of us.
And how angry it makes me to belong to it! Beginning often to speak without knowinghow his sentence would end. Not a day passedbut, as she saw him set off for Paris, she was tempted to tell him thetruth. Beginning often to speak without knowinghow his sentence would end.
And the class that has most affectation, because it thinks thatpeople are watching it. Beginning often to speak without knowinghow his sentence would end.
It was a childish simplicity that shone inthe manners of Madame dAumale.
Any one but Octave would havebeen able to read in them an _expression_ of the warmest passion. I was quite sure that he did not mean tocontradict me; but his rudeness kept me silent for an hour. Is it possible, thought Madame de Malivert, that Octave can be sotimid as that? It seems to me that beneath acloak of clever talk it proscribes all energy, all originality.
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