“Would she but deign to hear me

And with one smile to cheer me⁠ ⁠…”

“Would she but deign to hear me And with one smile to cheer me⁠ ⁠…”

“The little baggage!” growled the count.

And he wondered what she wanted. What she was hoping for.⁠ ⁠… She was a virtuous girl, she was said to have no friend, no protector of any sort.⁠ ⁠… That angel from the North must be very artful!

Raoul, behind the curtain of his hands that veiled his boyish tears, thought only of the letter which he received on his return to Paris, where Christine, fleeing from Perros like a thief in the night, had arrived before him: