Ah, Madam, you may smile as much as you please, but it is a
terrible thing for a man to dress and at the same time think
kindly of his fellow-beings. You set aside three hours for your
toilet, and devote two hours to the little curl which droops
over the tip of your dainty ear; but with a man who has no curl,
who knows nothing of the practice of smiles and side glances,
the studied carelessness of a pose, it is a dismal, serious
business up to the last moment.
With a final glance into the mirror, and convinced that if he
touched himself it would be only to disarrange the perfection
which he had striven so hard to attain, Maurice went down stairs.
He had still an hour to while away before presenting himself at
the archbishop's palace. So he roamed about the verandas,
twirled his cane, and smoked like a captain who expects to see
his men in active engagement the very next moment. This,
together with the bad hour in his room, was an indication that
his nerves were finely strung.
He was nervous, not because he was to see strange faces, not
because his interest in the kingdom's affairs was both comic and
tragic, nor because he was to present himself at the
archbishop's in a peculiar capacity, that of a prisoner on
parole.
Pages:
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301