"Yes," said the marquis, as if replying to this spirit of reproach; "yes,
if there be souls, yours must hover about me in reproach; reproach not
without its irony and gladness; for you see me all alone, Madame,
unloved, unrespected, declining and forgotten. But I offer no complaint;
only fools and hypocrites make lamentation. And I am less to this son of
yours than the steward who reckons his accounts. Where place the blame?
Upon these shoulders, Madame, stooped as you in life never saw them. I
knew not, conceited gallant that I was, that beauty and strength were
passing gifts. What nature gives she likewise takes away. Who would
have dreamed that I should need an arm to lean on? Not I, Madame! What
vanity we possess when we lack nothing! . . ."
From the dining-hall there came distinctly the Chevalier's voice lifted
in song. He was singing one of Victor's triolets which the poet had
joined to music:
"_When Ma'm'selle drinks from her satin shoe,
I drink the wine from her radiant eyes;
And we sit in a casement made for two
When Ma'm'selle drinks from her satin shoe
With a Bacchante's love for a Bacchic brew!
Then kiss the grape, for the midnight flies
When Ma'm'selle drinks from her satin shoe,
And I the wine from her radiant eyes!_"
"Madame, he sings well," said the marquis, whimsically.
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