had not destroyed the very French quick
mobility of her person. There was an extraordinary fascination in her
swift, incessant changes of attitude. She seemed as if she surely would
be a most delicious mistress when her corset and the encumbering costume
of her part were laid aside. All the rapture of love surely was latent
in the freedom of her expressive glances, in her caressing tones, in the
charm of her words. She gave glimpses of the high-born courtesan within
her, vainly protesting against the creeds of the duchess.

You might sit near her through an evening, she would be gay and
melancholy in turn, and her gaiety, like her sadness, seemed
spontaneous. She could be gracious, disdainful, insolent, or confiding
at will. Her apparent good nature was real; she had no temptation to
descend to malignity. But at each moment her mood changed; she was full
of confidence or craft; her moving tenderness would give place to a
heart-breaking hardness and insensibility. Yet how paint her as she
was, without bringing together all the extremes of feminine nature? In
a word, the Duchess was anything that she wished to be or to seem.
Her face was slightly too long. There was a grace in it, and a certain
thinness and fineness that recalled the portraits of the Middle Ages.
Her skin was white, with a faint rose tint. Everything about her erred,
as it were, by an excess of delicacy.

M. de Montriveau willingly consented to be introduced to the Duchesse
de Langeais; and she, after the manner of persons whose sensitive taste
leads them to avoid banalities, refrained from overwhelming him with
questions and compliments. She received him with a gracious deference
which could not fail to flatter a man of more than ordinary powers,
for the fact that a man rises above the ordinary level implies that
he possesses something of that tact which makes women quick to read
feeling. If the Duchess showed any curiosity, it was by her glances;
her compliments were conveyed in her manner; there was a winning grace
displayed in her words, a subtle suggestion of a desire to please which
she of all women knew the art of manifesting. Yet her whole conversation
was but, in a manner, the body of the letter; the postscript with the
principal thought in it was still to come. After half an hour spent in
ordinary talk, in which the words gained all their value from her tone
and smiles, M. de Montriveau was about to retire discreetly, when the
Duchess stopped h