"Oh!" said she, "I thought you were only going to try it on to-morrow?
In that case I suppose we are to go and call for you at Salmon's with the carriage on leaving the _matinee_ ?" "Oh! no my dear! One never knows when one will be free; and besides, if I have a moment, I shall call at the _modiste's_." Camille's secret rage brought almost a murderous glare to her dark eyes.
The truth was evident.

But however passionately she might desire to set some obstacle across her mother's path, she could not, dared not, carry matters any further.

In vain had she attempted to implore Gerard with her eyes.

He was standing to take his leave, and turned away his eyes.
Pierre, who had become acquainted with many things since he had frequented the house, noticed how all three of them quivered, and divined thereby the mute and terrible drama.
At this moment, however, Hyacinthe, stretched in an armchair, and munching an ether capsule, the only liqueur in which he indulged, raised his voice: "For my part, you know, I'm going to the Exposition du Lis.
All Paris is swarming there.

There's one painting in particular, 'The Rape of a Soul,' which it's absolutely necessary for one to have seen." "Well, but I don't refuse to drive you there," resumed the Baroness.
"Before going to the Princess's we can look in at that exhibition." "That's it, that's it," hastily exclaimed Camille, who, though she harshly derided the symbolist painters as a rule, now doubtless desired to delay her mother.