chance masks they encountered, and made her play her part in villainous pleasures, in an atmosphere which inebriated him like bad alcohol, but without procuring for him joy nor even the illusion of joy. It was remarked of him in the town that he no longer associated with people of his own class, but that on the contrary, he sought the society of needy artists and men of letters, or even of the lowest parasites. Disregarding etiquette and the worldly code, he did not show himself in any drawing-room.
His tastes and inclinations presented strange contradictions. Thus the same dilettante who collected rare stamps and cherished costly bound volumes, made a collection of the cast-off clothes and the tools of poor workingmen, of sailors' knives, and of soiled suburban-ball entry-tickets.
After having shown himself so very expansive, the young Count wrapped himself up in a sort of savage constraint. Even his joy was out of tune, a hoarse intonation of voice revealing gloomy, hidden thoughts, to such a degree that Blandine long doubted whether he had ever known a day of real serenity. If he tried to express pleasure he only grimaced; his smile looked more like a
