how deeply she distrusted him. But Julien was far from distrusting him.
Through the dinner he seemed silently to brag to Alfred. His look said,
and his smile said: "Is she not this and that, Alfred? Is she not
perfect?" His blue eyes were bright, and once he said, "Go on, talk,
Fanny, talk, Fanny, you have an audience. To-night you have two to
dazzle!" Impossible to dazzle Alfred. Could he not see that? One might
as easily dazzle a mahogany god, a little god alive beneath its casing
with a cold and angry life. Yet though at first she was silent, inclined
to listen to Alfred, to hope that something in his tones would soothe
her enemy fears, soon she could not help following Julien's mood. Should
she want to be praised, she had it from his eye--or be assured of love,
it was there, too, in the eye, the smile, the soft tone. Because of
Alfred, he could put nothing into words--because he must be dumb she
could read a more satisfying conversation in his face.

She began to think the occasional presence of a third person was an
addition, an exciting disturbance, a medium through which she could talk
with ease two languages at once, French to Alfred, and love to Julien.

When they had finished dining Alfred left them, promising to come back
with the car in half an hour, to take Fanny to the river.

"You must like him!" said Julien confidently, when the door had closed.
Fanny said she would. "And _do_ you like him?" Fanny said she did.

"I met him so many years ago. He was suffering very much at the time
through a woman. Now he will tell you he has become a cynic."

"Did she treat him badly?"