"Madame," he said, "the Duchesse de Chastellux begs that you will join
her at a table of whist." He paused a moment, and then, with a languid
shrug of his shoulders and a whimsical smile, "Your Grace was speaking
of the discontent of the lower orders? They are very unreasonable--these
lower orders--they spoil one's Paris so!"
Calvert was about to follow the two figures into the crowd, when
suddenly he heard his name called softly, and, turning, found himself
beside St. Aulaire and Madame de St. Andre. She was looking at him, her
eyes and lips smiling mockingly. Calvert met her gaze calmly and fully.
They stood thus, looking at each other, courteously on Calvert's part,
curiously, almost challengingly, on the young girl's. It was Madame de
St. Andre who broke the silence. When she spoke, her voice was
exquisitely sweet and low, and her eyes became kind, and the artificial
smile faded from her lips. Looking at her so, Calvert could scarce
believe that it was the same arrogant beauty who had regarded him so
haughtily but a moment before. 'Twas as if she had let fall from her
face, for a moment, some lovely but hateful mask, which she could resume
instantly at will.
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