"I do not think Sylvie would willingly make a fool of anyone," she
answered simply, "She is too loyal and sincere. I fancy you do not
understand her, Florian. She is full of fascination, but she is not
heartless."
But Florian entertained a very lively remembrance of the recent
rebuff given to himself by the fair Comtesse, and took his masculine
vengeance by the suggested innuendo of a shrug of his shoulders and
a lifting of his eyebrows. But he said no more just then, and merely
contented himself with coaxingly abstracting a rose out of Angela's
bodice, kissing it, and placing it in his own buttonhole. This was
one of his "pretty drawing-room tricks" according to Loyse
D'Agramont who always laughed unmercifully at these kind of
courtesies. They had been the stock-in-trade of her late husband,
and she knew exactly what value to set upon them. But Angela was
easily moved by tenderness, and the smallest word of love, the
lightest caress made her happy and satisfied for a long time. She
had the simple primitive notions of an innocent woman who could not
possibly imagine infidelity in a sworn love. Looking at her sweet
face, earnest eyes, and slim graceful figure now, as she moved away
from Florian Varillo's side, and passed glidingly in and out among
her guests, the Princesse D'Agramont, always watchful, wondered with
a half sigh how she would take the blow of disillusion if it ever
came; would it crush her, or would she rise the nobler and stronger
for it?
"Many a one here in this room to-day," mused the Princesse, "would
be glad if she fell vanquished in the hard fight! Many a man--
shameful as it seems--would give a covert kick to her poor body.
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