And she held out her hand, which I kissed.

"It is true," she went on; "you know I have the bad habit of trying
to embarrass people the first time I meet them. It is very stupid.
My doctor says it is because I am nervous and always ill; believe my
doctor."

"But you seem quite well."

"Oh! I have been very ill."

"I know."

"Who told you?"

"Every one knew it; I often came to inquire after you, and I was happy
to hear of your convalescence."

"They never gave me your card."

"I did not leave it."

"Was it you, then, who called every day while I was ill, and would never
leave your name?"

"Yes, it was I."

"Then you are more than indulgent, you are generous. You, count,
wouldn't have done that," said she, turning toward M. de N., after
giving me one of those looks in which women sum up their opinion of a
man.

"I have only known you for two months," replied the count.

"And this gentleman only for five minutes. You always say something
ridiculous."

Women are pitiless toward those whom they do not care for. The count
reddened and bit his lips.

I was sorry for him, for he seemed, like myself, to be in love, and
the bitter frankness of Marguerite must have made him very unhappy,
especially in the presence of two strangers.