Genevieve quietly drew him aside.
"You are getting excited, Maurice, and I see clearly that you are
blaming Esperance, but let me tell you, dear love, that you are
unjust. At this moment Esperance is walking in a dream. Nothing real
exists for her. For three months she has suffered very much, struggled
very much, and felt so much. Events have come very quickly. She finds
herself all of a sudden at the fount of the realization of all her
fondest hopes; to be loved by the one she loves!... Be patient,
Maurice, she is so young and so sensitive...."
"Your heart, dearest Genevieve, is an admirable accountant. It adds
the reasons, multiplies the excuses, subtracts the errors, and divides
the responsibility. You are adorable and I love you with all my heart.
Come with me, it is time for the concert. You go on immediately after
Delaunay. The Duchess is unable to contain herself at the idea of
hearing you recite her poem."
The Duke passed by, accompanied by the pretty Countess de Morgueil, at
whose conversation he was smiling politely and replying vaguely. He
seemed not to have seen the others. Like Esperance, he was living in a
world of dreams, happy in a realm where there was neither impatience
nor jealousy. He knew that he was loved.
After lunch Esperance said that she was going to rest, so as to be
fresh for next day. Her father and mother were to come on the
Princess's little yacht. She and Mlle.
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