Women -- France -- Fiction; Women's rights -- Fiction
Her elbows were resting on the arms of her chair and her hands were
gracefully crossed under her chin. At that period it was the fashion
for women to have their arms half bare at all times. On one of Edmee’s I
noticed a little strip of court-plaster that made my heart beat. It was
the slight scratch I had caused against the bars of the chapel window. I
gently lifted the lace which fell over her elbow, and, emboldened by her
drowsiness, pressed my lips to the darling wound. M. de la Marche could
see me, and, in fact, did see me, as I intended he should. I was
burning to have a quarrel with him. Edmee started and turned red; but
immediately assuming an air of indolent playfulness, she said:
“Really, Bernard, you are as gallant this morning as a court abbe. Do
you happen to have been composing a madrigal last night?”
I was peculiarly mortified at this jesting. However, paying her back in
her own coin, I answered:
“Yes; I composed one yesterday evening at the chapel window; and if it
is a poor thing, cousin, it is your fault.”
“Say, rather, that it is the fault of your education,” she replied,
kindling.
And she was never more beautiful than when her natural pride and spirit
were roused.
“My own opinion is that I am being very much over-educated,” I answered;
“and that if I gave more heed to my natural good sense you would not
jeer at me so much.”
“Really, it seems to me that you are indulging in a veritable war of
wits with Bernard,” said M. de la Marche, folding his paper carelessly
and approaching us.
“I cry quits with her,” I answered, annoyed at this impertinence. “Let
her keep her wit for such as you.”
I had risen to insult him, but he did not seem to notice it; and
standing with his back to the fire he bent down towards Edmee and said,
in a gentle and almost affectionate voice:
“What is the matter with him?” as if he were inquiring after the health
of her little dog.
“How should I know?” she replied, in the same tone.
Then she rose and added:
“My head aches too much to remain here. Give me your arm and take me up
to my room.”
She went out, leaning upon his arm. I was left there stupefied.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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