Read The Girl With the Golden Eyes for Free Online Page B

the ears and disappears down her neck.”
    “Oh! But the other one, my dear de Marsay! She has black eyes that have never cried, but burn; black eyebrows that meet and give her a look of hardness that’s contradicted by the full contours of her lips, on which no kiss remains—passionate, fresh lips; a Moorish complexion by which a man can be warmed like the sun; but, my word of honor, she looks just like you.…”
    “You flatter her!”
    “An arched waist, the streamlined waist of a racing sloop, which pounces on a merchant vessel with a French impetuosity, overtakes it and makes it go under in no time.”
    “Come on, old man, what do I have to do with a woman I’ve never even seen!” de Marsay interrupted. “As long as I’ve been studying women, my unknown girl is the only one whose virgin breast, passionate and voluptuous forms, have actualized for me the only woman I’ve ever dreamt of! She is the original of the rapturous painting called“The Woman Caressing Her Chimera,” the most ardent, infernal inspiration of ancient genius, a holy form of poetry prostituted by those who copied it for frescoes and mosaics, for a bunch of bourgeois who see nothing in this cameo but a bracelet charm, and put it on the covers of their pocket-watches, whereas it is everything that a woman is, an abyss of pleasures you wallow in without ever finding an end to them, yet it’s an ideal woman who can sometimes actually be seen in Spain or Italy, almost never in France. Well, I’ve seen this Girl with the Golden Eyes again, this woman caressing her chimera, I saw her here, on Friday. I sensed she would return the next day at the same time. I was not wrong. I took pleasure in following her without her seeing me, in studying the indolent walk of an idle woman, in whose movements you can discern a sleeping voluptuousness. Well, she turned around, saw me, again adored me, again trembled, shivered. Then I noticed the veritable Spanish
duenna
guarding her, a hyena whom some jealous man dressed up as a woman, some female devil well-paid to guard this suave creature.… Oh! Then the duenna made me even more than in love—she made me curious. Saturday, no one. Here I am, today, waiting for this girl whose chimera I am, and asking for nothing better than to pose like the monster in the fresco.”
    “There she is,” Paul said, “everyone’s turning around to look at her.…”
    The unknown girl blushed; her eyes sparkled when she saw Henri. Lowering them, she passed by.
    “You think she noticed you?” Paul de Manerville cried amusedly.
    The duenna observed the two young men fixedly and attentively. When the unknown girl and Henri met again, the young girl brushed by him, and squeezed the young man’s hand with her own. Then she turned back and smiled passionately; but the duenna pulled her along at a fast pace towards the gate to the Rue Castiglione. The two friends followed the young woman, admiring the magnificent sinuosity of her neck, to which her head was joined by a coordination of vigorous lines, whence a few little ringlets of hair forced their way out. The Girl with the Golden Eyes had the thin, well-turned ankle that offers so many attractions to ready imaginations. She was elegantly shod, and wore a short dress. During her promenade, she turned round from time to time to look again at Henri, and seemed only regretfully to follow the older woman, of whom she seemed to be both mistress and slave: She could have her thrashed black and blue, but could not have sent her away. So much was obvious. The two friends reached the gate. Two footmen in livery folded down the stepsof a tasteful carriage adorned with a coat of arms. The Girl with the Golden Eyes climbed in first, took the side where she would be seen when the car turned around; put her hand on the door and waved her handkerchief, without the duenna knowing, mocking the
whatever will they say
of curious onlookers, and publicly saying to Henri with the motions of her