Explore "Under the Red Robe" by Stanley J. Weyman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
To be frank, however, it was not the old wound that touched me so nearly, but Madame's words; which, finishing what Clon's sudden appearance in the garden had begun, went a long way towards hardening me and throwing me back into myself. I saw with bitterness -- what I had perhaps forgotten for a moment -- how great was the chasm that separated me from these women; how impossible it was that we could long think alike; how far apart in views, in experience, in aims we were. And while I made a mock in my heart of their high-flown sentiments -- or thought I did -- I laughed no less at the folly which had led me to dream, even for a moment, that I could, at my age, go back -- go back and risk all for a whim, a scruple, the fancy of a lonely hour.
I daresay something of this showed in my face; for Madame's eyes mirrored a dim reflection of trouble as she looked at me, and Mademoiselle talked nervously and at random. At any rate, I fancied so, and I hastened to compose myself; and the two, in pressing upon me the simple dainties of the table soon forgot, or appeared to forget, the incident.