The visit was a long one; he sat
there--in the front parlour, in the biggest armchair--for more than
an hour. He seemed more at home this time--more familiar; lounging a
little in the chair, slapping a cushion that was near him with his
stick, and looking round the room a good deal, and at the objects it
contained, as well as at Catherine; whom, however, he also
contemplated freely. There was a smile of respectful devotion in his
handsome eyes which seemed to Catherine almost solemnly beautiful; it
made her think of a young knight in a poem. His talk, however, was
not particularly knightly; it was light and easy and friendly; it
took a practical turn, and he asked a number of questions about
herself--what were her tastes--if she liked this and that--what were
her habits. He said to her, with his charming smile, "Tell me about
yourself; give me a little sketch." Catherine had very little to
tell, and she had no talent for sketching; but before he went she had
confided to him that she had a secret passion for the theatre, which
had been but scantily gratified, and a taste for operatic music--that
of Bellini and Donizetti, in especial (it must be remembered in
extenuation of this primitive young woman that she held these
opinions in an age of general darkness)--which she rarely had an
occasion to hear, except on the hand-organ. She confessed that she
was not particularly fond of literature.
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