Villette (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Charlotte Bronte [89]
‘A good deal of it is true as gospel, and shrewd besides.
There must be good in you, Ginevra, to speak so honestly; that snake, Zélie St. Pierre, could not utter what you have uttered. Still, Miss Fanshawe, hapless as I am, according to your showing, sixpence I would not give to purchase you, body and soul.’
‘Just because I am not clever, and that is all you think of. Nobody in the world but you cares for cleverness.’
‘On the contrary, I consider you are clever, in your way—very smart indeed. But you were talking of breaking hearts—that edifying amusement into the merits of which I don’t quite enter; pray on whom does your vanity lead you to think you have done execution to-night?’
She approached her lips to my ear—‘Isidore and Alfred de Hamal are both here,’ she whispered.
‘Oh! they are? I should like to see them.’
‘There’s a dear creature! your curiosity is roused at last. Follow me, I will point them out.’
She proudly led the way—‘But you cannot see them well from the classes,’ said she, turning, ‘Madame keeps them too far off. Let us cross the garden, enter by the corridor, and get close to them behind: we shall be scolded if we are seen, but never mind.’
For once, I did not mind. Through the garden we went—penetrated into the corridor by a quiet private entrance, and approaching the carré, yet keeping in the corridor shade, commanded a near view of the band of jeunes gens.’
I believe I could have picked out the conquering de Hamal even undirected. He was a straight-nosed, very correct-featured, little dandy. I say little dandy, though he was not beneath the middle standard in stature; but his lineaments were small, and so were his hands and feet; and he was pretty and smooth, and as trim as a doll: so nicely dressed, so nicely curled, so booted and gloved and cravated—he was charming indeed. I said so: ‘What a dear personage!’ cried I, and commended Ginevra’s taste warmly; and asked her what she thought de Hamal might have done with the precious fragments of that heart she had broken—whether he kept them in a scent-vial, and conserved them in otto of roses? I observed, too, with a deep rapture of approbation, that the colonel’s hands were scarce larger than Miss Fanshawe’s own, and suggested that this circumstance might be convenient, as he could wear her gloves at a pinch. On his dear curls, I told her I doated; and as to his low, Grecian brow, and exquisite classic head-piece, I confessed I had no language to do such perfections justice.
‘And if he were your lover?’ suggested the cruelly exultant Ginevra.
‘Oh! heavens, what bliss!’ said I; ‘but do not be inhuman, Miss Fanshawe: to put such thoughts into my head is like showing poor outcast Cain a far glimpse of Paradise.’
‘You like him then?’
‘As I like sweets, and jams, and comfits, and conservatory flowers.’
Ginevra admired my taste, for all these things were her adoration ; she could then readily credit that they were mine too.
‘Now for Isidore,’ I went on. I own I felt still more curious to see him than his rival; but Ginevra was absorbed in the latter.
‘Alfred was admitted here to-night,’ said she, ‘through the influence of his aunt, Madame la Baronne de Dorlodot; and now, having seen him, can you not understand why I have been in such spirits all the evening, and acted so well and danced with such life, and why I am now happy as a queen? Dieu! Dieu! It was such good fun to glance first at him and then at the other, and madden them both.’
‘But that other—where is he? Show me Isidore.’
‘I don’t like.’
‘Why not?’
‘I am ashamed of him.’
‘For