"We
French take our pleasures lightly, Madame, and no doubt there is many an
excellent Parisian bourgeois who comes here and makes or loses his few
francs, and gets no harm from it. But, still, I swore to myself that I
would warn you of the danger--"
They went out into the bright sunshine again, and Sylvia somehow felt as
if she had made a friend--a real friend--in the Comte de Virieu. It was
a curious sensation, and one that gave her more pleasure than she would
have cared to own even to herself.
Most of the men she had met since she became a widow treated her as an
irresponsible being. Many of them tried to flirt with her for the mere
pleasure of flirting with so pretty a woman; others, so she was
resentfully aware, had only become really interested in her when they
became aware that she had been left by her husband with an income of two
thousand pounds a year. She had had several offers of marriage since her
widowhood, but not one of the men who had come and said he loved her had
confessed as much about himself as this stranger had done.
She was the more touched and interested because the Frenchman's manner
was extremely reserved.
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