She was somewhere about thirty-six years of age, thin and tall,
reserved and prim, and, like all old maids, seemed puzzled to know
which way to look, an expression no longer in keeping with her
measured, springless, and hesitating steps. She was both young and old
at the same time, and, by a certain dignity in her carriage, showed
the high value which she set upon her charms and perfections. In
addition, her movements were all demure and discreet, like those of
women who are accustomed to take great care of themselves, no doubt
because they desire not to be cheated of love, their destined end.
"Your life is in danger, sir; do not come to the Club again!" she
said, stepping back a pace or two from Raphael, as if her reputation
had already been compromised.
"But, mademoiselle," said Raphael, smiling, "please explain yourself
more clearly, since you have condescended so far----"
"Ah," she answered, "unless I had had a very strong motive, I should
never have run the risk of offending the countess, for if she ever
came to know that I had warned you----"
"And who would tell her, mademoiselle?" cried Raphael.
"True," the old maid answered. She looked at him, quaking like an owl
out in the sunlight.
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