By artificial light, Beatrix seemed more beautiful than before.  The white gleam of the candles laid a satiny lustre on her forehead, lighted the spangles of her eyes, and ran through her swaying curls, touching them here and there into gold.  She threw back the thin gauze scarf she was wearing and disclosed her neck.  Calyste then saw its beautiful nape, white as milk, and hollowed near the head, until its lines were lost toward the shoulders with soft and flowing symmetry.  This neck, so dissimilar to that of Camille, was the sign of a totally different character in Beatrix.

Calyste found much trouble in pretending to eat; nervous motions within him deprived him of appetite.  Like other young men, his nature was in the throes and convulsions which precede love, and carve it indelibly on the soul.  At his age, the ardor of the heart, restrained by moral ardor, leads to an inward conflict, which explains the long and respectful hesitations, the tender debatings, the absence of all calculation, characteristic of young men whose hearts and lives are pure.  Studying, though furtively, so as not to attract the notice of Conti, the various details which made the marquise so purely beautiful, Calyste became, before long, oppressed by a sense of her majesty; he felt himself dwarfed by the hauteur of certain of her glances, by the imposing expression of a face that was wholly aristocratic, by a sort of pride which women know how to express in slight motions, turns of the head, and slow gestures, effects less plastic and less studied than we think.  The false situation in which Beatrix had placed herself compelled her to watch her own behavior, and to keep herself imposing without being ridiculously so.  Women of the great world know how to succeed in this, which proves a fatal reef to vulgar women.

The expression of Felicite’s eyes made Beatrix aware of the inward adoration she inspired in the youth beside her, and also that it would be most unworthy on her part to encourage it.  She therefore took occasion now and then to give him a few repressive glances, which fell upon his heart like an avalanche of snow.  The unfortunate young fellow turned on Felicite a look in which she could read the tears he was suppressing by superhuman efforts.  She asked him in a friendly tone why he was eating nothing.  The question piqued him, and he began to force himself to eat and to take part in the conversation.

But whatever he did, Madame de Rochefide paid little attention to him.  Mademoiselle des Touches having started the topic of her journey to Italy she related, very wittily, many of its incidents, which made Claude Vignon, Conti, and Felicite laugh.

“Ah!” thought Calyste, “how far such a woman is from me!  Will she ever deign to notice me?”

Mademoiselle des Touches was struck with the expression she now saw on Calyste’s face, and tried to console him with a look of sympathy.  Claude Vignon intercepted that look.  From that moment the great critic expanded into gaiety that overflowed in sarcasm.  He maintained to Beatrix that love existed only by desire; that most women deceived themselves in loving; that they loved for reasons unknown to men and to themselves; that they wanted to deceive themselves, and that the best among them were artful.