The countess, airy and delicate as a verse of Voiture's, bent all her powers (and these were not inconsiderable) toward the subjugation of Maurice.

She laughed, she sang, she fascinated.

She had the ability to amuse hour after hour.

She offered vague promises with her eyes, and refused them with her lips.

Maurice, who was never impregnable under the fire of feminine artillery, was at times half in love with her; but his suspicions, always near the surface, saved him.
Sometimes he caught her hand and retained it over long; and once, when he kissed it, there was no rebuke.