Indeed, he had disliked and distrusted Madame de Flahaut from the first
time of meeting her, and, to do the lady justice, she had disliked Mr.
Calvert just as heartily and could never be got to believe that he was
anything but a most unintelligent and uninteresting young man, convinced
that his taciturnity and unruffled serenity before her charms were the
signs of crass stupidity.
If Mr. Calvert found the pretty and vivacious Comtesse de Flahaut little
to his taste, the society of which she was a type offended him still
more. It had taken him but a short time to realize what shams, what
hollowness, what corruption existed beneath the brilliant and gay
surface. Amiability, charm, wit, grace were to be found everywhere in
their perfection, but nowhere was truth, or sincerity, or real pleasure.
All things were perverted. Constancy was only to be found in
inconstancy. Gossip and rumor left no frailty undiscovered, no
reputation unsmirched. Religion was scoffed at, love was caricatured.
All about him Calvert saw young nobles, each the slave of some
particular goddess, bowing down and doing duty like the humblest menial,
now caressed, now ill-treated, but always at beck and call, always
obedient.
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