Camors caught her eye as he entered, as if she were watching for him. He had seen her the previous evening, and they had had a more lively skirmish than usual. He was struck by her brilliancy--her beauty heightened, without doubt, by the secret ardor of the quarrel, as if illuminated by an interior flame, with all the clear, soft splendor of a transparent alabaster vase.
When he advanced to join her and salute her, yielding, against his will, to an involuntary movement of passionate admiration, he said:
“You are truly beautiful this evening. Enough so to make one commit a crime.”
She looked fixedly in his eyes, and replied:
“I should like to see that,” and then left him, with superb nonchalance.
The General approached, and tapping the Count on the shoulder, said:
“Camors! you do not dance, as usual. Let us play a game of piquet.”
“Willingly, General;” and traversing two or three salons they reached the private boudoir of the Marquise. It was a small oval room, very lofty, hung with thick red silk tapestry, covered with black and white flowers. As the doors were removed, two heavy curtains isolated the room completely from the neighboring gallery. It was there that the General usually played cards and slept during his fetes. A small card-table was placed before a divan. Except this addition, the boudoir preserved its every-day aspect. Woman’s work, half finished, books, journals, and reviews were strewn upon the furniture. They played two or three games, which the General won, as Camors was very abstracted.
“I reproach myself, young man,” said the former, “in having kept you so long away from the ladies. I give you back your liberty--I shall cast my eye on the journals.”
“There is nothing new in them, I think,” said Camors, rising. He took up a newspaper himself, and placing his back against the mantelpiece, warmed his feet, one after the other. The General threw himself on the divan, ran his eye over the ‘Moniteur de l’Armee’, approving of some military promotions, and criticising others; and, little by little, he fell into a doze, his head resting on his chest.
But Camors was not reading. He listened vaguely to the music of the orchestra, and fell into a reverie. Through these harmonies, through the murmurs and warm perfume of the ball, he followed, in thought, all the evolutions of her who was mistress and queen of all. He saw her proud and supple step--he heard her grave and musical voice--he felt her breath.