expects us."

"She has you every day," replied the countess; "besides, we can send
her word. Is she alone?"

"No, the Abbe de Quelus is there."

"Well, then," she said, rising to ring the bell, "you really must dine
with us."

This time Monsieur de Chessel thought her in earnest, and gave me a
congratulatory look. As soon as I was sure of passing a whole evening
under that roof I seemed to have eternity before me. For many
miserable beings to-morrow is a word without meaning, and I was of the
number who had no faith in it; when I was certain of a few hours of
happiness I made them contain a whole lifetime of delight.

Madame de Mortsauf talked about local affairs, the harvest, the
vintage, and other matters to which I was a total stranger. This
usually argues either a want of breeding or great contempt for the
stranger present who is thus shut out from the conversation, but in
this case it was embarrassment. Though at first I thought she treated
me as a child and I envied the man of thirty to whom she talked of
serious matters which I could not comprehend, I came, a few months
later, to understand how significant a woman's silence often is, and
how many thoughts a voluble conversation masks. At first I attempted
to be at my ease and take part in it, then I perceived the advantages
of my situation and gave myself up to the charm of listening to Madame
de Mortsauf's voice. The breath of her soul rose and fell among the
syllables as sound is divided by the notes of a flute; it died away to