"This wretched ministerial apprentice does not understand me," he
said, after a moment's silence.

So, while the poor Eve in the rue du Rocher went to bed in the sheets
of shame, frightened at the pleasure with which she had listened to
that sham great poet, these three bold minds were trampling with jests
over the tender flowers of her dawning love. Ah! if women only knew
the cynical tone that such men, so humble, so fawning in their
presence, take behind their backs! how they sneer at what they say
they adore! Fresh, pure, gracious being, how the scoffing jester
disrobes and analyzes her! but, even so, the more she loses veils, the
more her beauty shines.

Marie was at this moment comparing Raoul and Felix, without imagining
the danger there might be for her in such comparisons. Nothing could
present a greater contrast than the disorderly, vigorous Raoul to
Felix de Vandenesse, who cared for his person like a dainty woman,
wore well-fitting clothes, had a charming "desinvoltura," and was a
votary of English nicety, to which, in earlier days, Lady Dudley had
trained him. Marie, as a good and pious woman, soon forbade herself
even to think of Raoul, and considered that she was a monster of
ingratitude for making the comparison.

"What do you think of Raoul Nathan?" she asked her husband the next
day at breakfast.

"He is something of a charlatan," replied Felix; "one of those
volcanoes who are easily calmed down with a little gold-dust. Madame
de Montcornet makes a mistake in admitting him."