haste and the smile
of that age. Then, to see Gorka's expression and the feverish brilliance
of the Countess's eyes had given her what she called, in an odd but very
appropriate way, the sensation of "a needle in the heart," of a sharp,
fine point, which entered her breast to the left. She had slept a sleep
so profound, after the soiree of the day before, on which she had thought
she perceived in her mother's attitude between the Polish count and the
American painter a proof of certain innocence.

She admired her mother so much, she thought her so intelligent, so
beautiful, so good, that to doubt her was a thought not to be borne!
There were times when she doubted her. A terrible conversation about the
Countess, overheard in a ballroom, a conversation between two men, who
did not know Alba to be behind them, had formed the principal part of the
doubt, which, by turns, had increased and diminished, which had abandoned
and tortured her, according to the signs, as little decisive as Madame
Steno's tranquillity of the preceding day or her confusion that morning.
It was only an impression, very rapid, instantaneous, the prick of a
needle, which merely leaves after it a drop of blood, and yet she had a
smile with which to say to Boleslas:

"How did Maud rest? How is she this morning? And my little friend Luc?"

"They are very well," replied Gorka. The last stage of his fury, suddenly
arrested by the presence of the young girl, was manifested, but only to
the Countess, by the simple phrase to which his eyes and his voice lent
an extreme bitterness: "I found them as I left them.... Ah! They love me
dearly.... I leave you to Peppino, Countess," added he, walking toward
the door. "Mademoiselle, I will bear your love to Maud." ....He had
regained all the courtesy which a long line of savage 'grands seigneurs',
but 'grands seigneurs' nevertheless, had instilled in him. If his bow to
Madame Steno was very ceremonious, he put a special grace in the low bow
with which he took leave of the Contessina. It was merely a trifle, but
the Countess was keen enough to perceive it. She was touched by it, she
whom despair, fury, and threats had found so impassive. For an instant
she was vaguely humiliated by the success which she had gained over the
man whom she would, voluntarily, five minutes before, have had cast out
of doors by her servants. She was silent, oblivious even of her
daughter's presence, until the latter recalled her to herself