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Camille had given him a young girl, for whose keep she paid, who lived with Tour d'Auvergne in furnished apartments in the Rue de Taranne, and whom he said he loved as one loves a portrait, because she came from Camille. The count often took her with him to Camille's to supper. She was fifteen, simple in her manners, and quite devoid of ambition.
She found herself the dupe of her own mind; too late she saw life lighted by the sun of love, shining as love shines in a heart of twenty. Let us now see Camille's convent where this was happening. A few hundred yards from Guerande the soil of Brittany comes to an end; the salt-marshes and the sandy dunes begin.
Calyste, sitting on a stool, answered only by motions of the head, and rare monosyllables when spoken to; Camille's uneasiness, roused for Beatrix, was still further excited by Calyste's unnatural condition.
One never knows when one will be free; and besides, if I have a moment, I shall call at the modiste's." Camille's secret rage brought almost a murderous glare to her dark eyes. The truth was evident. But however passionately she might desire to set some obstacle across her mother's path, she could not, dared not, carry matters any further. In vain had she attempted to implore Gerard with her eyes.
You will be happy, and I shall be free. Seem to pity that angel for belonging to a man without delicacy; show her a tear for you can weep, you are still young. I, alas! can weep no more; and that's a great advantage lost." Calyste and Conti went up to Camille's salon.
Camille's uncle went to her side, and Mme. de Grandlieu took up her position on a hearth stool between her daughter and Derville. "The time has come for telling a story, which should modify your judgment as to Ernest de Restaud's prospects." "A story?" cried Camille. "Do begin at once, monsieur." The glance that Derville gave the Vicomtesse told her that this tale was meant for her.
"Now, friends, let's all go home and git our suppers. If you're so tired as I be you'll need 'em. Come, Lucy, the babbies are fretting, and there's Tilly tryin' to git to us. Come on!" The crowd, laughing and crying, parted to let them through, Joyce and George, still quite dazed, staring with the rest. Camille's voice aroused them. "Did you ever see anything so matter-of-fact!
Very pointed was Camille's neglect of both Harry and me, to make herself lovely to the dark and diffident new-comer, while Estelle positively pursued me with compensatory sweetness; and Gregory, whenever he and I were alone together, labored to reassure me of his harmlessness by expatiating exclusively upon the charms of Cecile.
"Forgive me! It is past noon. Run away, child, and come back at two." The day seemed very long in spite of Camille's easy kindness, and the girl shrank from the subsequent sitting at Varini's. "Why do you pose for those wretched boys?" grumbled the Prix de Rome man. "After this week you must come to me only. I must paint a Rosamund."
He listened to Camille's advice and stayed at home two whole days; but on the third he was scratching at Beatrix's door to let her know that he and Camille were waiting breakfast for her. "Another chance lost!" Camille said to him when she saw him re-appear so weakly. During his two days' absence, Beatrix had frequently looked through the window which opens on the road to Guerande.
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