Napoleon? She threw back her pretty head, laughed softly, and fanned
herself. Napoleon? Why, of course there could be no real connection; the
man was an impostor, a base impostor, playing upon the credulities of a
secluded village. Absurd--and interesting! So interesting, she did not
resent the attention given to Valmond, to the exclusion of herself;
though to speak truly, her vanity desired not admiration more than is
inherent in the race of women.
Yet she was very dainty this morning, good to look at, and refreshing,
with everything in flower-like accord; simple in general effect, yet with
touches of the dramatic here and there--in the little black patch on the
delicate health of her cheek, in the seductive arrangements of her laces.
She loved dress, all the vanities, but she had something above it all--an
imaginative mind, certain of whose faculties had been sharpened to a fine
edge of cleverness and wit. For she was but twenty-three; with the logic
of a woman of fifty, without its setness and lack of elasticity. She went
straight for the hearts of things, while yet she glittered upon the
surface. This was why Valmond interested her--not as a man, a physical
personality, but as a mystery to be probed, discovered.
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