"
"You speak in metaphors," said the Baron.
"Precisely. A truth is often more visible veiled than nude."
"We should soon exhaust the orders," I interposed; "for who builds like
his neighbor?"
"Slight variations, Monsieur! Though we take such pains to conceal the
style, it is not difficult to tell the order of architecture chosen by
the builders in this room. My mother, for instance,--you perceive that
her pavilion would be the florid Gothic."
"Mademoiselle's is the Doric," I said.
"Has been," she murmured, with a quick glance.
"And mine, Mademoiselle?" asked the Baron, indifferently.
"Ah, Monsieur," she returned, looking serenely upon him, "when one has
all the winning cards in hand and yet loses the stake, we allot him _un
pavilion chinois"_--which was the polite way of dubbing him Court Fool.
The Baron's eyes fell. Vexation and alarm were visible on his contracted
brow. He stood in meditation for some time. It must have been evident to
him that Delphine knew of the recent occurrences,--that here in Paris
she could denounce him as the agent of a felony, the participant of a
theft. What might prevent it? Plainly but one thing: no woman would
denounce her husband. He had scarcely contemplated this step on arrival.
The guests were again scattered in groups round the room. I examined
an engraving on an adjacent table. Delphine reclined as lazily in a
_fauteuil_ as if her life did not hang in the balance.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96