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Full of vague perplexities to which she could give no name, Sylvie went homewards slowly, and as she entered her rooms, and responded to the affectionate morning greetings of Madame Bozier, she was conscious of a sudden depression that stole over her bright soul like a dark cloud on a sunny day, and made her feel chilled and sad.
For men do not love they only desire." She raised her face to the sky, and the moonbeams shed a golden halo round her. "That," she said slowly, "is the reason why I have come here to avoid the Marquis Fontenelle. He does not love me!" "He is a villain!" said Madame Bozier with asperity. "Helas!
Sylvie, hidden as she was among the shadows, blushed and drew back, a little vexed with herself, the worthy Madame Bozier was very properly scandalised. "My dear child!" she murmured, "Remember we are in Rome. People judge things so strangely! What an unfortunate error! But Sylvie became suddenly unmanageable.
"C'est du charme toujurs du charme!" murmured Madame Bozier, studying with a wistful affection the dainty lines of Sylvie's slight figure, "And that is an even more fatal gift than beauty, chere petite!" "Du charme! You think that is it?
Sylvie shuddered as with icy cold . . . a darkness seemed to overwhelm her . . . she staggered a little, and Ruspardi caught her, wondering at the lightness and delicacy and beauty of her, as he assisted Madame Bozier to lead her to a deep fauteuil where she sank down, trembling in every nerve. "And he is dead?" she asked mechanically. Ruspardi bowed a grave assent.
"Oh, I cannot . . . I cannot!" she murmured, "Not now not now!" Madame Bozier looked at her in distress and amazement. "What is the matter, dear?" she asked, "Some bad news?" Silently Sylvie handed her Fontenelle's letter. "Dear me! He is actually in Rome!" said the old lady, "And he asks you to be his wife! Well, dear child, is not that what you had a right to expect from him?"
She had riches in plenty, a fine estate and castle in Hungary, servants at her beck and call and yet with all her wealth and beauty and brilliancy, she felt that she was only loved by two persons in the world, her old butler, and Madame Bozier, who had been her first governess, and who now lived with her, as a sort of dame d'honneur surrounded with every comfort and luxury, and who certainly served her former pupil with a faithful worship that would not have changed, even if the direst poverty instead of riches had been the portion of her beloved patroness.
He did unworthy things, which I could not, with all my admiration for him, gloze over or excuse; in fact, I found that in his private life and code of honour he was very little better than Miraudin, and Miraudin, as you know, one CANNOT receive!" "He is in Rome also," said Madame Bozier, "I saw his name placarded in the streets only yesterday, and also outside one of the leading theatres.
The Marquis knew that, by the lamentable story of her dismissed maid who had come to him with hysterical tears, declaring that "Madame" had suddenly developed a "humeur incroyable" and had gone away alone, alone, save for a little dusky-skinned Arab boy whom she had once brought away from Biskra and had trained as an attendant, her "gouvernante" and companion, Madame Bozier, and her old butler who had known her from childhood.
Their conversation was abruptly terminated here by the entrance of Madame Bozier with a quantity of fresh flowers which she had been out to purchase, for Sylvie to take as usual on her morning visit to her suffering friend; and Aubrey took his leave, promising to return later in the afternoon, after Monsignor Gherardi had been and gone.
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