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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 167 pages of information about The Wandering Jew Volume 03.

The lamps threw a dubious light into the interior of Dr. Baleinier’s carriage, in which he was seated alone with Adrienne de Cardoville.  The charming countenance of the latter, faintly illumined by the lamps beneath the shade of her little gray hat, looked doubly white and pure in contrast with the dark lining of the carriage, which was now filled with that, sweet, delicious, and almost voluptuous perfume which hangs about the garments of young women of taste.  The attitude of the girl, seated next to the doctor, was full of grace.  Her slight and elegant figure, imprisoned in her high-necked dress of blue cloth, imprinted its wavy outline on the soft cushion against which she leaned; her little feet, crossed one upon the other, and stretched rather forward, rested upon a thick bear-skin, which carpeted the bottom of the carriage.  In her hand, which was ungloved and dazzlingly white, she held a magnificently embroidered handkerchief, with which, to the great astonishment of M. Baleinier, she dried her eyes, now filled with tears.

Yes; Adrienne wept, for she now felt the reaction from the painful scenes through which she had passed at Saint-Dizier House; to the feverish and nervous excitement, which had till then sustained her, had succeeded a sorrowful dejection.  Resolute in her independence, proud in her disdain, implacable in her irony, audacious in her resistance to unjust oppression, Adrienne was yet endowed with the most acute sensibility, which she always dissembled, however, in the presence of her aunt and those who surrounded her.

Notwithstanding her courage, no one could have been less masculine, less of a virago, than Mdlle.  Cardoville.  She was essentially womanly, but as a woman, she knew how to exercise great empire over herself, the moment that the least mark of weakness on her part would have rejoiced or emboldened her enemies.

The carriage had rolled onwards for some minutes; but Adrienne, drying her tears in silence, to the doctor’s great astonishment, had not yet uttered a word.

“What, my dear Mdlle.  Adrienne?” said M. Baleinier, truly surprised at her emotion; “what! you, that were just now so courageous, weeping?”

“Yes,” answered Adrienne, in an agitated voice; “I weep in presence of a friend; but, before my aunt—­oh! never.”

“And yet, in that long interview, your stinging replies—­”

“Ah me! do you think that I resigned myself with pleasure to that war of sarcasm?  Nothing is more painful to me than such combats of bitter irony, to which I am forced by the necessity of defending myself from this woman and her friends.  You speak of my courage:  it does not consist, I assure you, in the display of wicked feelings—­but in the power to repress and hide all that I suffer, when I hear myself treated so grossly—­in the presence, too, of people that I hate and despise—­when, after all, I have never done them any harm, and have only asked to be allowed to live alone, freely and quietly, and see those about me happy.”

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