true; but, for my own part, I do not blame you. You are two
centuries behind the times with your false ideas of greatness.

There, leave us to arrange your affairs, and say that Montriveau
made your servants drunk to gratify his vanity and to compromise

you----"
The Duchess rose to her feet with a spring. "In Heaven's name,

aunt, do not slander him!"
The old Princess's eyes flashed.

"Dear child," she said, "I should have liked to spare such of
your illusions as were not fatal. But there must be an end of

all illusions now. You would soften me if I were not so old.
Come, now, do not vex him, or us, or anyone else. I will

undertake to satisfy everybody; but promise me not to permit
yourself a single step henceforth until you have consulted me.

Tell me all, and perhaps I may bring it all right again."
"Aunt, I promise----"

"To tell me everything?"
"Yes, everything. Everything that can be told."

"But, my sweetheart, it is precisely what cannot be told that I
want to know. Let us understand each other thoroughly. Come,

let me put my withered old lips on your beautiful forehead. No;
let me do as I wish. I forbid you to kiss my bones. Old people

have a courtesy of their own. . . . There, take me down to my
carriage," she added, when she had kissed her niece.

"Then may I go to him in disguise, dear aunt?"
"Why--yes. The story can always be denied," said the old

Princess.
This was the one idea which the Duchess had clearly grasped in

the sermon. When Mme de Chauvry was seated in the corner of her
carriage, Mme de Langeais bade her a graceful adieu and went up

to her room. She was quite happy again.
"My person would have snared his heart; my aunt is right; a man

cannot surely refuse a pretty woman when she understands how to
offer herself."

That evening, at the Elysee-Bourbon, the Duc de Navarreins, M. de
Pamiers, M. de Marsay, M. de Grandlieu, and the Duc de

Maufrigneuse triumphantly refuted the scandals that were
circulating with regard to the Duchesse de Langeais. So many

officers and other persons had seen Montriveau walking in the
Tuileries that morning, that the silly story was set down to

chance, which takes all that is offered. And so, in spite of the
fact that the Duchess's carriage had waited before Montriveau's

door, her character became as clear and as spotless as Mambrino's
sword after Sancho had polished it up.

But, at two o'clock, M. de Ronquerolles passed Montriveau in a
deserted alley, and said with a smile, "She is coming on, is

your Duchess. Go on, keep it up!" he added, and gave a
significant cut of the riding whip to his mare, who sped off like

a bullet down the avenue.
Two days after the fruitless scandal, Mme de Langeais wrote to M.

de Montriveau. That letter, like the preceding ones, remained
unanswered. This time she took her own measures, and bribed M.

de Montriveau's man, Auguste. And so at eight o'clock that
evening she was introduced into Armand's apartment. It was not

the room in which that secret scene had passed; it was entirely
different. The Duchess was told that the General would not be at

home that night. Had he two houses? The man would give no
answer. Mme de Langeais had bought the key of the room, but not

the man's whole loyalty.
When she was left alone she saw her fourteen letters lying on an

old-fashioned stand, all of them uncreased and unopened. He had
not read them. She sank into an easy-chair, and for a while she

lost consciousness. When she came to herself, Auguste was
holding vinegar for her to inhale.

"A carriage; quick!" she ordered.
The carriage came. She hastened downstairs with convulsive

speed, and left orders that no one was to be admitted. For
twenty-four hours she lay in bed, and would have no one near her

but her woman, who brought her a cup of orange-flower water from
time to time. Suzette heard her mistress moan once or twice, and

caught a glimpse of tears in the brilliant eyes, now circled with
dark shadows.

The next day, amid despairing" target="_blank" title="a.感到绝望的">despairing tears, Mme de Langeais took her
resolution. Her man of business came for an interview, and no

doubt received instructions of some kind. Afterwards she sent
for the Vidame de Pamiers; and while she waited, she wrote a

letter to M. de Montriveau. The Vidame punctually came towards
two o'clock that afternoon, to find his young cousin looking

white and worn, but resigned; never had her divine loveliness
been more poetic than now in the languor of her agony.

"You owe this assignation to your eighty-four years, dear
cousin," she said. "Ah! do not smile, I beg of you, when an

unhappy woman has reached the lowest depths of wretchedness. You
are a gentleman, and after the adventures of your youth you must

feel some indulgence for women."
"None whatever," said he.

"Indeed!"
"Everything is in their favour."

"Ah! Well, you are one of the inner family circle; possibly you
will be the last relative, the last friend whose hand I shall

press, so I can ask your good offices. Will you, dear Vidame, do
me a service which I could not ask of my own father, nor of my

uncle Grandlieu, nor of any woman? You cannot fail to
understand. I beg of you to do my bidding, and then to forget

what you have done, whatever may come of it. It is this: Will
you take this letter and go to M. de Montriveau? will you see him

yourself, give it into his hands, and ask him, as you men can ask
things between yourselves--for you have a code of honour between

man and man which you do not use with us, and a different way of
regarding things between yourselves--ask him if he will read this

letter? Not in your presence. Certain feelings men hide from
each other. I give you authority to say, if you think it

necessary to bring him, that it is a question of life or death
for me. If he deigns----"

"DEIGNS!" repeated the Vidame.
"If he deigns to read it," the Duchess continued with dignity,

"say one thing more. You will go to see him about five o'clock,
for I know that he will dine at home today at that time. Very

good. By way of answer he must come to see me. If, three hours
afterwards, by eight o'clock, he does not leave his house, all

will be over. The Duchesse de Langeais will have vanished from
the world. I shall not be dead, dear friend, no, but no human

power will ever find me again on this earth. Come and dine with
me; I shall at least have one friend with me in the last agony.

Yes, dear cousin, tonight will decide my fate; and whatever
happens to me, I pass through an ordeal by fire. There! not a

word. I will hear nothing of the nature of comment or
advice----Let us chat and laugh together," she added, holding

out a hand, which he kissed. "We will be like two grey-headed
philosophers who have learned how to enjoy life to the last

moment. I will look my best; I will be very enchanting for you.
You perhaps will be the last man to set eyes on the Duchesse de

Langeais."
The Vicomte bowed, took the letter, and went without a word. At

five o'clock he returned. His cousin had studied to please him,
and she looked lovely indeed. The room was gay with flowers as