This Binet girl."
"That! Pooh! An incident; hardly a folly."
"A folly - at such a time," Sautron insisted. The Marquis looked
a question. The Count answered it. "Aline," said he, pregnantly.
"She knows. How she knows I can't tell you, but she knows, and she
is deeply offended."
The smile perished on the Marquis' face. He gathered himself up.
"Offended?" said he, and his voice was anxious.
"But yes. You know what she is. You know the ideals she has
formed. It wounds her that at such a time - whilst you are here
for the purpose of wooing her - you should at the same time be
pursuing this affair with that chit of a Binet girl."
"How do you know?" asked La Tour d'Azyr.
"She has confided in her aunt. And the poor child seems to have
some reason. She says she will not tolerate that you should come
to kiss her hand with lips that are still contaminated from... Oh,
you understand. You appreciate the impression of such a thing
upon a pure, sensitive girl such as Aline. She said - I had better
tell you - that the next time you kiss her hand, she will call for
water and wash it in your presence.
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