She did not understand the game very well; but, when
the old gambler cheated too openly, she would notice it, and say,
laughingly,--"She is robbing you, M. Daburon,--she is robbing you!" He
would willingly have been robbed of his entire fortune, to hear that
sweet voice raised on his behalf.
It was summer time. Often in the evening she accepted his arm, and,
while the marchioness remained at the window, seated in her arm-chair,
they walked around the lawn, treading lightly upon the paths spread with
gravel sifted so fine that the trailing of her light dress effaced the
traces of their footsteps. She chatted gaily with him, as with a beloved
brother, while he was obliged to do violence to his feelings, to refrain
from imprinting a kiss upon the little blonde head, from which the light
breeze lifted the curls and scattered them like fleecy clouds. At such
moments, he seemed to tread an enchanted path strewn with flowers, at
the end of which appeared happiness.
When he attempted to speak of his hopes to the marchioness, she would
say: "You know what we agreed upon. Not a word. Already does the
voice of conscience reproach me for lending my countenance to such an
abomination.
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