Shall I tell you why it is so? Because I never look at,
or even think of, the actress whom I seem to address--my thoughts soar
far above and beyond her--and I speak to my own perfect ideal; to a
being, noble, beautiful, spirituelle as yourself, Mme. la Marquise!
It is you, in fine, YOU that I see and love under the name of Silvie,
Doralice, Isabelle, or whatever it may chance to be; they are only your
phantoms for me."
With these words Leander, who was too good an actor to neglect the
pantomime that should accompany such a declaration, bent down over the
hand that the marquise had allowed him to take, and covered it with
burning kisses; which delicate attention was amiably received, and his
real love-making seemed to be as pleasing to her ladyship as even he
could have desired.
The eastern sky was all aflame with the radiance of the coming sun when
Leander, well wrapped in his warm cloak, was driven back to Poitiers.
As he lifted a corner of one of the carefully lowered curtains, to see
which side of the town they were approaching, he caught sight of the
Marquis de Bruyeres and the Baron de Sigognac, still at some distance,
who were walking briskly along the road towards him, on their way to the
spot designated for the duel.
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