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He might have sold the thing for many louis, and yet he brought it to me; and he would not go till he had seen me sitting on it, muffling my hands and face in the soft fur. Just now, as I am writing, I glance at the table where I sit a small brown table of oak, carved with the name of Felise, Baroness of Beaugard.
Arithelli made no answer. She lay like a dead thing, and after a pause the slow cynical voice went on. "There was another woman in our affair about two years ago. Her name was Félise Rivaz. She got engaged to one of the men, and then it suddenly occurred to her that comfortable matrimony and Anarchy didn't seem likely to be enjoyed at one and the same time.
He might have sold the thing for many louis, and yet he brought it to me; and he would not go till he had seen me sitting on it, muffling my hands and face in the soft fur. Just now, as I am writing, I glance at the table where I sit a small brown table of oak, carved with the name of Felise, Baroness of Beaugard.
I'm only a machine to the rest of you." She spoke without a touch of resentment. It was purely a statement of fact. "Ah, that's just the point. The feminine side of you is exactly what we don't want. One Félise Rivaz is enough, most of us think. Try and keep the elfish boy you were when you arrived. It will be less trouble, Fatalité, ma chère. With the other thing there are always complications.
The house was like the one that Emile had described when telling her of the murdered woman, Félise Rivaz. The very air reeked of intrigue and hidden deeds. She looked round first of all for Emile, but he was not there, and only half the usual number of conspirators were assembled.
The whispering and the nods did not much trouble Messire Jurgen, who merely observed that he was used to the buffets of a censorious world; young Florian never heard of this furtive chatter; and certainly what people said in Poictesme did not at all perturb the vicomte's mother, that elderly and pious lady, Madame Felise de Puysange, at her remote home in Normandy.
He had heard the last words. She was safe, that was all that mattered, and for himself he was reckless. "Traitor, am I? Yes, if the Cause is to include the ill-treatment of women!" "Women? Again women? Are our meetings to be used as love trysts. There was a certain episode two years ago Gaston de Barrés and Félise Rivaz you remember it? Ah, I thought so!
I suppose it needs a certain kindred perversion, in the reader, to know the shudder of the loss, more dear than life, of such as these! The more normal memory of man will still continue repeating the liturgical syllables of a very different requiem: "O daughters of dreams and of stories, That Life is not wearied of yet Faustine, Fragoletta, Dolores, Felise, and Yolande and Julette!"
More unaccountable still, it was the body of Felise de Puysange, whom Jurgen had loved very long ago in Gatinais, a great many years before he set up in business as a pawnbroker. Very strange it was to Jurgen again to see her face.
Meanwhile, as Jurgen reflected, the real Vicomte de Puysange was at this moment lying in a delirium, yonder at Benoit's: to-morrow the true Vicomte would be recognized, and within the year the Vicomte would have married Felise de Soyecourt, and later Jurgen would meet her, in the orchard; and Jurgen knew what was to happen then also.
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