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But there were one or two persons living who could have read it, and who could have warned you that the true story of Eugénie de Netteville's life was written, not in her literary studies or her social triumphs, but in various recurrent outbreaks of unbridled impulse the secret, and in one or two cases the shameful landmarks of her past.
What a specimen! A boy and girl match, I suppose. What else could have induced that poor wretch to cut his throat in such fashion? He, of all men! And Eugénie de Netteville stood thinking not, apparently, of the puritanical wife; the dangerous softness which overspread the face could have had no connection with Catherine. Madame de Netteville's instinct was just.
She laid her head against his knee, saying nothing, but gathering his hand closely in both her own. Poor woman's heart! One moment in rebellion, the next a suppliant. He bent down quickly and kissed her. 'Would you like, he said presently, after both had sat silent a while in the firelight, 'would you care to go to Madame de Netteville's to-night?
It was black, simply made, and had been a favourite with both of them in the old surroundings. So they drove off to Madame de Netteville's. Catherine's heart was beating faster than usual as she mounted the twisting stairs of the luxurious little house. All these new social experiences were a trial to her.
If there were two or three people in Paris or London who knew or suspected incidents of Madame de Netteville's young married days which made her reception at some of the strictest English houses a matter of cynical amusement to them, not the remotest inkling of their knowledge was ever likely to reach Elsmere. He was not a man who attracted scandals. Nor was it anybody's interest to spread them.
He was drawn without knowing it into a match of wits wherein his strokes, if they lacked the finish and subtlety of hers, showed certainly no lack of sharpness or mental resource. Madame de Netteville's tone insensibly changed, her manner quickened, her great eyes gradually unclosed.
She laid her head against his knee, saying nothing; but gathering his hand closely in both her own. Poor woman's heart! One moment in rebellion, the next a suppliant. He bent down quickly and kissed her. 'Would you like, he said presently, after both had sat silent awhile in the firelight, 'would you care to go to Madame de Netteville's to-night?
He led her to her chair, and, kneeling before her, he tried, so far as the emotion of both would let him, to make her realise what was in his own heart, the penitence and longing which had winged his return to her. Without a mention of Madame de Netteville's name, indeed! That horror she should never know.
It was black, simply made, and had been a favorite with both of them in the old surroundings. So they drove off to Madame de Netteville's. Catherine's heart was beating faster than usual as she mounted the twisting stairs of the luxurious little house. All these new social experiences were a trial to her.
He admired the skill, too, of Madame de Netteville's second in the duet, the finish, the alternate sparkle and melancholy of it; and at last he too was drawn in, and found himself listened to with great benevolence by the Frenchman, who had been informed about him, and regarded him indulgently, as one more curious specimen of English religious provincialisms. The journalist, Mr.
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