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Updated: June 2, 2025
"It is not very amusing," said the Princess; "but that is not your fault. Your anarchists are as timid and moderate as other Frenchmen. The Russians have more audacity and more imagination." Countess Martin asked Paul Vence whether he knew a silent, timid-looking man among the guests. Her husband had invited him. She knew nothing of him, not even his name.
M. Martin-Belleme said everyone should bow before such reasons, and that one was too happy to read the articles and the fine books written by M. Paul Vence to have any wish to take him from his work. "Oh, my books! One never says in a book what one wishes to say. It is impossible to express one's self.
And at every strange revelation concerning Madame Raymond, or Madame Berthier, or Princess Seniavine, he added, negligently: "Everybody knows it." Then, little by little, the crowd of visitors dispersed. Only Madame Marmet and Paul Vence remained. The latter went toward Madame Martin, and asked: "When do you wish me to introduce Dechartre to you?" It was the second time he had asked this of her.
Paris is cold and bleak. This weather tires and saddens me. I am going to Florence, for six weeks, to visit Miss Bell." M. Martin-Belleme then lifted his eyes to heaven. Vence asked whether she had been in Italy often. "Three times; but I saw nothing. This time I wish to see, to throw myself into things. From Florence I shall take walks into Tuscany, into Umbria.
"I met this morning, in the park, Baronne Warburg, mounted on a magnificent horse. She said, 'General, how do you manage to have such fine horses? I replied: Madame, to have fine horses, you must be either very wealthy or very clever." He was so well satisfied with his reply that he repeated it twice. Paul Vence came near Countess Martin: "I know that senator's name: it is Lyer.
When he had gone, the Countess Martin asked ingenuously of Paul Vence if he knew why that good Madame Marmet had looked at M. Schmoll with such marked though silent anger. He was surprised that she did not know. "I never know anything," she said. "But the quarrel between Schmoll and Marmet is famous. It ceased only at the death of Marmet. "The day that poor Marmet was buried, snow was falling.
Countess Martin would have wished Dechartre to give his opinion. But he excused himself with a sort of fright. "Do you know," said Schmoll again, "the parable of the three rings, sublime inspiration of a Portuguese Jew." Garain, while complimenting Paul Vence on his brilliant paradox, regretted that wit should be exercised at the expense of morality and justice.
She did not conceal her pleasure at hearing him speak in that way. She regarded Paul Vence as the only really intelligent man she knew. She had appreciated him before his books had made him celebrated. His ill- health, his dark humor, his assiduous labor, separated him from society. The little bilious man was not very pleasing; yet he attracted her.
When you were far from me, I felt all the impieties of desire." "I did not suspect this. But do you recall the first time we saw each other, when Paul Vence introduced you? You were seated near a screen. You were looking at the miniatures. You said to me: 'This lady, painted by Siccardi, resembles Andre Chenier's mother. I replied to you: 'She is my husband's great-grandmother.
He persisted in trying to flatter her vanity, unable to realize that her mind was not worldly. She replied, negligently, that it might be a pleasant trip. Then he praised the mountains, the ancient cities, the bazaars, the costumes, the armor. He added: "We shall take some friends with us Princess Seniavine, General Lariviere, perhaps Vence or Le Menil."
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