She is not of this world.

I know not whom or what I have married.

You remember that cold and beautiful creature in the Arabian tales who rose at night to go and feast in the graveyard.

It's absurd, but she reminds me of that." The count's troubled look, the constrained laugh with which he accompanied his words, moved Lucan deeply.
"So, then," said the latter, "you are unhappy ?" "It is impossible to be more so," replied the count, pressing his hand hard.

"I adore her, and I am jealous--without knowing of whom and of what! She does not love me--and yet she loves some one--she must love some one! How can I doubt it?
Look at her; she is the very embodiment of passion; the fire of passion overflows in her words, in her looks, in the blood of her veins! And near me, she is as cold as the statue upon a tomb!" "Frankly, _mon cher_," said Lucan, "you seem to exaggerate your disasters greatly.