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Updated: May 3, 2025
This young man, ironical with all the rest of the world, was serious with her. From the moment he turned toward her, his voice, face, and conversation became as serious as if he had entered a church. He had a great deal of wit, and he used and abused it beyond measure in conversations in the presence of Madame de Tecle, as if he were making a display of fireworks in her honor.
Love, mystery, fortune-she wished to preserve them all at any price; and the more she reflected, the more the marriage of Camors appeared to her the surest safeguard. It was true, it would give her a sort of rival. But she had too high an opinion of herself to fear anything; and she preferred Mademoiselle de Tecle to any other, because she knew her, and regarded her as an inferior in everything.
There was something very touching to Madame de Tecle in the reserved and timid manner of this 'mauvais sujet', in her presence the homage of a fallen spirit, as if ashamed of being such, in presence of a spirit of light. Never, either in public or when tete-a-tete, was there a jest, a word, or a look which the most sensitive virtue could fear.
She herself abandoned the old habitation of the Comte de Tecle, to install herself near her daughter in the modest chateau which belonged to the maternal ancestors of M. de Camors, and which we have already described in another place, with its solemn avenue, its balustrades of granite, its labyrinths of hornbeams and the black fishpond, shaded with poplars.
Madame de la Roche-Jugan finally offered to send Vautrot to her, that she might herself interrogate him. Madame de Tecle, affecting an incredulity and a tranquillity she did not feel, refused and withdrew. On her returning to her daughter, she forced herself to deceive her as to the impressions she had received, but she did not succeed; for her anxious face belied her reassuring words.
Madame de Tecle, finding herself almost lost in this very large room, had so arranged some pieces of furniture as to make herself a little private nook near the chimneypiece, which her daughter called, "My mother's chapel." It was there Camors now perceived her, by the soft light of a lamp, sitting in an armchair, and, contrary to her custom, having no work in her hands.
He saluted Madame de Tecle with a slight movement of his head, and turned away immediately. He entered the garden at the back of the house, and walked abstractedly from alley to alley.
But they all seemed subject to the same charm; and that charm was sovereign. Madame de Tecle, half hidden on her sofa, and seemingly busied with her embroidery, animated all by a glance, softened all by a word. The glance was inspiring; the word always appropriate. Her decision on all points they regarded as final as that of a judge who sentences, or of a woman who is beloved.
As a practical man he took a more healthy view of his adventure with Madame de Tecle, and began to congratulate himself on its denouement. Had things taken a different turn, his future destiny would have been compromised and deranged for him.
She was surprised at not seeing her daughter with him. He informed her that she had been a little indisposed since the preceding evening. Notwithstanding the precautions he took in his language and by his smile, he could not prevent Madame de Tecle from feeling a lively alarm. He did not pretend, however, entirely to reassure her.
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