“She was dressed as if for a ball. Everything about her shimmered and glimmered softly, as if her dress had been woven out of candle-beams ; and she carried her head high, like a pretty woman challenging a roomful of rivals. “We were saying, my dear, that here was something beautiful to surprise you with,” the Marchioness rejoined, rising to her feet and pointing archly to the flowers. Madame Olenska stopped short and looked at the bouquet. Her color did not change, but a sort of white radiance ...of anger ran over her like summer lightning. “Ah,” she exclaimed, in a shrill voice that the young man had never heard, “who is ridiculous enough to send me a bouquet? Why a bouquet? And why tonight of all nights? I am not going to a ball; I am not a girl engaged to be married. But some people are always ridiculous.” She turned back to the door, opened it, and called out: “Nastasia!” The ubiquitous handmaiden promptly appeared, and Archer heard Madame Olenska say, in an Italian that she seemed to pronounce with intentional deliberateness in order that he might follow it: “Here—throw this into the dust-bin!” and then, as Nastasia stared protestingly: “But no—it’s not the fault of the poor flowers.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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