Vallombreuse stationed himself silently close beside the mirror on
Isabelle's dressing-table, leaning one elbow on its frame all the other
gallants respectfully making way for him--just where she could not
possibly help seeing him whenever she looked in the glass; a skilful
manoeuvre, which would surely have succeeded with any other than this
modest young girl. He wished to produce an impression, before addressing
a word to her, by his personal beauty, his lordly mien, and his
magnificence of apparel. Isabelle, who had instantly recognised the
audacious gallant of the garden, and who was displeased by the imperious
ardour of his gaze, redoubled her reserve of manner, and did not lift
her eyes to the mirror in front of her at all; she did not even seem
to be aware that one of the handsomest young noblemen in all France
was standing there before her, trying to win a glance from her lovely
eyes--but then, she was a singular girl, this sweet Isabelle! At length,
exasperated by her utter indifference, Vallombreuse suddenly took the
initiative, and said to her, "Mademoiselle, you take the part of Sylvia
in this new play, do you not?"
"Yes, sir," Isabelle answered curtly, without looking at him--not able
to evade this direct question.
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