He looked at her, looked at the sweet, challenging loveliness of that childlike face so tightly framed in the oval of white fur, and all the life seemed to go out of his own countenance.
"God help you, Aline!" he groaned.
She stamped her foot. He was really very exasperating, and something presumptuous too, she thought.
"You are insolent, monsieur."
"It is never insolent to pray, Aline. And I did no more than pray, as I shall continue to do. You'll need my prayers, I think."
"You are insufferable!" She was growing angry, as he saw by the deepening frown, the heightened colour.
"That is because I suffer. Oh, Aline, little cousin, think well of what you do; think well of the realities you will be bartering for these shams - the realities that you will never know, because these cursed shams will block your way to them. When M. de La Tour d'Azyr comes to make his court, study him well; consult your fine instincts; leave your own noble nature free to judge this animal by its intuitions. Consider that..."
"I consider, monsieur, that you presume upon the kindness I have always shown you. You abuse the position of toleration in which you stand. Who are you? What are you, that you should have the insolence to take this tone with me?"
He bowed, instantly his cold, detached self again, and resumed the mockery that was his natural habit.
"My congratulations, mademoiselle, upon the readiness with which you begin to adapt yourself to the great role you are to play."
"Do you adapt yourself also, monsieur," she retorted angrily, and turned her shoulder to him.
"To be as the dust beneath the haughty feet of Madame la Marquise. I hope I shall know my place in future."
The phrase arrested her. She turned to him again, and he perceived that her eyes were shining now suspiciously.
