Madame Valade was that kind of woman. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays. He did not look at her directly, though she fantasized that she could 141 feel his stares from the back of the class on occasion. “You are very good,” she said. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind.
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