The Colonel and the Countess seemed
perfectly to understand that accident had placed them in an awkward
position. Martial, as they came forward, had hastened to join the
group of men by the fireplace, that he might watch Madame de
Vaudremont with the jealous anxiety of the first flame of passion,
from behind the heads which formed a sort of rampart; a secret voice
seemed to warn him that the success on which he prided himself might
perhaps be precarious. But the coldly polite smile with which the
Countess thanked Monsieur de Soulanges, and her little bow of
dismissal as she sat down by Madame de Gondreville, relaxed the
muscles of his face which jealousy had made rigid. Seeing Soulanges,
however, still standing quite near the sofa on which Madame de
Vaudremont was seated, not apparently having understood the glance by
which the lady had conveyed to him that they were both playing a
ridiculous part, the volcanic Provencal again knit the black brows
that overshadowed his blue eyes, smoothed his chestnut curls to keep
himself in countenance, and without betraying the agitation which made
his heart beat, watched the faces of the Countess and of M.
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