What he wished, indeed, was abundantly
clear to her. But his mode of making it clear rendered the task of
dealing with him a somewhat difficult one.
Partially, Bianca understood the nature of the case. She was partly
aware why the Marchese was slow to say that which so many, whom she
had known, had made so little difficulty of saying. She understood
that, whatever his years might be, he was a novice at that business.
She comprehended that he was, in many respects, a younger man than
many a coulisse-frequenting youth whom she had known. But she was
far from conceiving any true notion of the Marchese's state of mind
on the subject. She was very far from imagining that he looked with
disgust and with terror at the position which she conceived him to
be but too ready to accept to-morrow, if only he knew how to ask for
it, or if it could be offered to him without his asking. She little
guessed that his feeling towards her oscillated between the maddest
desire and the fiercest hatred; that reveries, filled with pictured
imaginings and fevered recollections of her beauty, alternated with
the most violent efforts to cleanse his mind and imagination of the
thought of her.
She understood nothing of all this, and it was impossible that she
should understand it. In truth, she was innocent of any conduct
which could have justified such sentiments.
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