"And so," he said, after a while, "poor Marie is in love."
"Nay; I did not say she was in love-not in the deep depth of absolute
love--but I think she is not indifferent to Henri: were she truly and
earnestly in love, she would have told me so."
"Not indifferent to him, and yet not in love. Faith, Victorine, I know
not the difference; but you women are such adepts in the science, that
you have your degrees of comparison in it."
"Marie, then, has not yet reached the first degree, for hers is not even
downright positive love; but I am sure she is fond of Henri's society;
and now, poor girl, she must give it up--and probably for ever."
"As you said a while since, Victorine, how should she not like his
society? I can fancy no man more fit to be the cynosure of a woman's eye
than Larochejaquelin. He has that beauty which women love to look on:
the bold bright eye, the open forehead, the frank, easy smile, and his
face is only a faithful index to his heart; he is as frank as brave, and
yet as tender-hearted as he looks to be; he is specially formed to love
and to be loved.
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