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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Do not let us talk about it, then," said Madame de Belliere, who detected the ill-nature that was concealed by all these prefaces, yet felt the most anxious curiosity on the subject. "Well, then, my dear marquise, it is said that, for some time past, you no longer continue to regret Monsieur de Belliere as you used to." "It is an ill-natured report, Marguerite.
Fouquet, who had risen from his seat at the same moment as Madame de Belliere, remained for a moment plunged in thought; then suddenly starting back, he turned pale, and sank down in his chair, concealing his face in his hands. "Madame, madame," he murmured, "what opinion can you have of me, when you make me such an offer?" "Of you!" returned the marquise.
"Oh!" said the latter, "I was not uneasy about the payment; the house is good." A painful smile passed over the pale features of Fouquet. "Are you in pain?" asked Madame de Belliere. "Do you feel your attack coming on?" asked Madame Fouquet. "Neither, thank you both," said Fouquet. "Your attack?" said D'Artagnan, in his turn; "are you unwell, monseigneur?"
As the summer came on, picnics were introduced, and gay parties would pile into and on to Flabeau's small omnibus, and drive off to Hunandaye, Coétquën, La Bellière, Guingamp, or some other unpronounceable but most charming spot, for a day of sunshine and merrymaking.
When the servants announced Madame Vanel to Madame de Belliere, the latter was engaged, or rather was absorbed, in reading a letter, which she hurriedly concealed. She had hardly finished her morning toilette, her maid being still in the next room. At the name at the footsteps of Marguerite Vanel, Madame de Belliere ran to meet her.
On seeing him thus, every one cried out, and every one rushed towards Fouquet. The latter, looking at Pelisson, leaned upon his wife, and pressed the icy hand of the Marquise de Belliere. "Well," said he, in a voice which had nothing human in it. "What has happened, my God!" said some one to him.
This gloomy gentleness of manner, this smiling sadness of expression, which had replaced his former excessive joy, produced an indescribable effect upon Madame de Belliere, who was regarding him at a distance.
It represents you, on the contrary, as a virtuous but loving woman, defending yourself with claws and teeth, shutting yourself up in your own house as in a fortress; in other respects, as impenetrable as that of Danae, notwithstanding Danae's tower was made of brass." "You are witty, Marguerite," said Madame de Belliere, angrily. "You always flatter me, Elise.
When I leave any one who weeps at my abandonment, I feel induced still to love him; but when others forsake me and laugh at their infidelity, I love distractedly." Madame de Belliere could not restrain an involuntary movement. "She is jealous," said Marguerite to herself. "Then," continued the marquise, "you are quite enamored of the Duke of Buckingham I mean of M. Fouquet?"
"I do not now remember the amount of the account." "Of the new service, madame, or of that which M. de Belliere presented to you on your marriage? for I have furnished both." "First of all, the new one." "The covers, the goblets, and the dishes, with their covers, the eau-epergne, the ice-pails, the dishes for the preserves, and the tea and coffee urns, cost your ladyship sixty thousand francs."
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