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Rh As compared with the latter, she told her friend some weeks later, "M. Roland is a mere savant." Nevertheless, she was not altogether indifferent, and a certain feminine preoccupation peeps out from the following lines, sent to Amiens immediately after this visit:—"Our conversation touched on a thousand interesting topics. I stammered a little, without being too shy; I received him unceremoniously in my baigneuse and white camisole, in that negligénégligé [sic] which you used to like in the summer mornings. (This was in January.) He may have seen from my manner that I was charmed by his visit; and has asked my leave to come again, which was willingly granted."

The leave was not neglected. M. Roland presented himself again before the fair stammerer within the month. This time she was quite convinced that she had made the most unfavourable of impressions on the critical Roland. Of all the disenchanting accidents that beauty is liable to, she was then suffering from a violent cold in the head, which, next to seasickness, has, perhaps, the most sobering effect on the raptures of love. To add to her discomfort, her father, who never left her on such occasions, if he could help it, and to whom these philosophical talks were caviare, fidgeted about the room, till she felt so teased that she had not even sense enough left to put any questions to M. Roland. Everyone knows that the great art of conversation is to ask people the right kind of questions. Only give a man the opportunity of bringing out his pet theories and favourite stories, and he will pronounce you the most admirable talker he ever met. Manon, who possessed the talent of listening, was, no doubt, mistress of the art of drawing people out; but whether she failed on this occasion or not,