Satiated with flattery, bored by the
narrow circle in which she was forced to move, profoundly humiliated by
the neglect and viciousness of her husband, she was charmed by the wit,
independence, and true courtesy of the brilliant American. A daughter of
the old Duc de Penthievre, the embodiment of everything good in the
ancien regime, the Duchess of Orleans was, herself, a woman of rare good
sense, beauty, and tact, all of which appealed strongly to Mr. Morris,
so that the acquaintance begun so graciously on her part and so
dubiously on his, soon ripened into real friendship.
"I never see her but I feel a throb of pity for her," declared Mr.
Morris to Calvert. "'Twas a malignant fate that made her the wife of so
dissolute a prince. She is very handsome--handsome enough to punish the
duke for his irregularities, and she has, I think, the most beautiful
arm in all Europe--of which she is properly vain! But what is a little
vanity among so many virtues?--for she is eminently virtuous, though not
averse, I think, to seeking some consolation for her profound
melancholy, for--as she has confided to me--she feels 'le besoin d'etre
aime,'" and he smiled a little cynically, as men of the world are wont
to smile at the confession of feminine weaknesses.
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