"
He laughed, and his eyes twinkled satirically.
"Are you serious?" asked Angela.
"I never was more serious in my life," declared the Marquis
emphatically, "With all my heart I wish to make the delicious pink
and white Sylvie happy,--I am sure I could succeed in my way. If I
should ever allow myself to do such a dull thing as to marry,--
imagine it!--such a dull and altogether prosy thing!--my gardener
did it yesterday;--I should of course choose a person with a
knowledge of housekeeping and small details,--her happiness it would
be quite unnecessary to consider. The maintenance of the
establishment, the servants, and the ever increasing train of
milliners and dressmakers would be enough to satisfy Madame la
Marquise's ambitions. But for Sylvie,--half-fairy, half-angel as she
is,--there must be poetry and moonlight, flowers, and romance, and
music, and tender nothings,--marriage does not consort with these
delights. If you were a little school-girl, dear Donna Sovrani, I
should not talk to you in this way,--it would not be proper,--it
would savour of Lord Byron, and Maeterlinck, and Heinrich Heine, and
various other wicked persons. It would give you what the dear
governesses would call 'les idees folles', but being an artist, a
great artist, you will understand me.
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