"Rafael Sabatini. Scaramouche" - читать интересную книгу автора

more than to allow my consent to be sought. We understand each other, my
uncle and I. I am not to be bartered like a turnip."
He stood still to face her, his eyes glowing, a flush creeping into his
pale cheeks.
"You have been torturing me to amuse yourself!" he cried. "Ah, well, I
forgive you out of my relief."
"Again you go too fast, Cousin Andre I have permitted my uncle to
consent that M. le Marquis shall make his court to me. I like the look of
the gentleman. I am flattered by his preference when I consider his
eminence. It is an eminence that I may find it desirable to share. M. le
Marquis does not look as if he were a dullard. It should be interesting to
be wooed by him. It may be more interesting still to marry him, and I think,
when all is considered, that I shall probably - very probably - decide to do
so."
He looked at her, looked at the sweet, challenging loveliness of that
childlike face so tightly framed in the oval of white fur, and all the life
seemed to go out of his own countenance.
"God help you, Aline!" he groaned.
She stamped her foot. He was really very exasperating, and something
presumptuous too, she thought.
"You are insolent, monsieur."
"It is never insolent to pray, Aline. And I did no more than pray, as I
shall continue to do. You'll need my prayers, I think."
"You are insufferable!" She was growing angry, as he saw by the
deepening frown, the heightened colour.
"That is because I suffer. Oh, Aline, little cousin, think well of what
you do; think well of the realities you will be bartering for these shams -
the realities that you will never know, because these cursed shams will
block your way to them. When M. de La Tour d'Azyr comes to make his court,
study him well; consult your fine instincts; leave your own noble nature
free to judge this animal by its intuitions. Consider that... "
"I consider, monsieur, that you presume upon the kindness I have always
shown you. You abuse the position of toleration in which you stand. Who are
you? What are you, that you should have the insolence to take this tone with
me?"
He bowed, instantly his cold, detached self again, and resumed the
mockery that was his natural habit.
"My congratulations, mademoiselle, upon the readiness with which you
begin to adapt yourself to the great role you are to play."
"Do you adapt yourself also, monsieur," she retorted angrily, and
turned her shoulder to him.
"To be as the dust beneath the haughty feet of Madame la Marquise. I
hope I shall know my place in future."
The phrase arrested her. She turned to him again, and he perceived that
her eyes were shining now suspiciously. In an instant the mockery in him was
quenched in contrition.
"Lord, what a beast I am, Aline!" he cried, as he advanced. "Forgive me
if you can."
Almost had she turned to sue forgiveness from him. But his contrition
removed the need.