To plan by herself, to arrange the minutest detail,
and above all to wait patiently! Patience has never been the
attribute of a woman of power; Madame possessed both patience
and power.
The countess was seated in another dark corner. Suddenly she
arose and said, in a voice blended with great trouble and
impatience: "For pity's sake, Madame, cease those dirges! Play
something lively; I am sad."
The music stopped, but presently began again. Maurice leaned
forward. Madame was playing Chopin's polonaise. He laughed
silently. He was in Madame's thoughts. It struck him, however,
that the notes had a defiant ring.
"Lights!" called Madame, rising from the stool.
Immediately a servant entered with candles and retired. Maurice,
when his eyes had grown accustomed to the lights, scanned the
three faces. Madame's was radiant. Fitzgerald's was a mixture--a
comical mixture--of content and enjoyment, but the countess's
was as colorless as the wax in the candlesticks. He asked
himself what other task she had to perform that she should take
so long to recover her roses. Had the knowledge of her recent
humiliation been too much for her?
She was speaking to him.
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