Miss Severence listened without
comment; indeed, he was not sure that she was listening, so
conventional was her expression. But, though she was careful to
keep her face a blank, her mind was busy. Surely not since the gay
women of Barras's court laughed at the megalomaniac ravings of a
noisy, badly dressed, dirty young lieutenant named Buonaparte, had
there been a vanity so candid, so voluble, so obstreperous. Nor
did he talk of himself in a detached way, as if he were relating
the performances and predicting the glory of a human being who
happened to have the same name as himself. No, he thrust upon her
in every sentence that he, he himself and none other, had said and
done all these splendid startling things, would do more, and more
splendid. She listened, astounded; she wondered why she did not
burst out laughing in his very face, why, on the contrary, she
seemed to accept to a surprising extent his own estimate of
himself.
"He's a fool," thought she, "one of the most tedious fools I ever
met. But I was right; he's evidently very much of a somebody.
However does he get time to DO anything, when he's so busy
admiring himself? How does he ever contrive to take his mind off
himself long enough to think of anything else?"
Nearly an hour later Arkwright came for him, cut him off in the
middle of an enthusiastic description of how he had enchained and
enthralled a vast audience in the biggest hall in St.
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