ventured to bring her face to face with herself. She has played

with many a man, no doubt; I will avenge them all."
For the first time, it may be, in a man's heart, revenge and love

were blended so equally that Montriveau himself could not know
whether love or revenge would carry all before it. That very

evening he went to the ball at which he was sure of seeing the
Duchesse de Langeais, and almost despaired of reaching her heart.

He inclined to think that there was something diabolical about
this woman, who was gracious to him and radiant with charming

smiles; probably because she had no wish to allow the world to
think that she had compromised herself with M. de Montriveau.

Coolness on both sides is a sign of love; but so long as the
Duchess was the same as ever, while the Marquis looked sullen and

morose, was it not plain that she had conceded nothing?
Onlookers know the rejected lover by various signs and tokens;

they never mistake the genuine symptoms for a coolness such as
some women command their adorers to feign, in the hope of

concealing their love. Everyone laughed at Montriveau; and he,
having omitted to consult his cornac, was abstracted and ill at

ease. M. de Ronquerolles would very likely have bidden him
compromise the Duchess by responding to her show of friendliness

by passionate demonstrations; but as it was, Armand de Montriveau
came away from the ball, loathing human nature, and even then

scarcely ready to believe in such complete depravity.
"If there is no executioner for such crimes," he said, as he

looked up at the lighted windows of the ballroom where the most
enchanting women in Paris were dancing, laughing, and chatting,

"I will take you by the nape of the neck, Mme la Duchesse, and
make you feel something that bites more deeply than the knife in

the Place de la Greve. Steel against steel; we shall see which
heart will leave the deeper mark."

For a week or so Mme de Langeais hoped to see the Marquis de
Montriveau again; but he contented himself with sending his card

every morning to the Hotel de Langeais. The Duchess could not
help shuddering each time that the card was brought in, and a dim

foreboding crossed her mind, but the thought was vague as a
presentiment of disaster. When her eyes fell on the name, it

seemed to her that she felt the touch of the implacable man's
strong hand in her hair; sometimes the words seemed like a

prognostication of a vengeance which her lively intellect
invented in the most shocking forms. She had studied him too

well not to dread him. Would he murder her, she wondered? Would
that bull-necked man dash out her vitals by flinging her over his

head? Would he trample her body under his feet? When, where,
and how would he get her into his power? Would he make her

suffer very much, and what kind of pain would he inflict? She
repented of her conduct. There were hours when, if he had come,

she would have gone to his arms in complete self-surrender.
Every night before she slept she saw Montriveau's face; every

night it wore a different aspect. Sometimes she saw his bitter
smile, sometimes the Jovelike knitting of the brows; or his

leonine look, or some disdainful movement of the shoulders made
him terrible for her. Next day the card seemed stained with

blood. The name of Montriveau stirred her now as the presence of
the fiery, stubborn, exacting lover had never done. Her

apprehensions gathered strength in the silence. She was forced,
without aid from without, to face the thought of a hideous duel

of which she could not speak. Her proud hard nature was more
responsive to thrills of hate than it had ever been to the

caresses of love. Ah! if the General could but have seen her, as
she sat with her forehead drawn into folds between her brows;

immersed in bitter thoughts in that boudoir where he had enjoyed
such happy moments, he might perhaps have conceived high hopes.

Of all human passions, is not pride alone capable" target="_blank" title="a.无能力的；不能的">incapable of
engendering anything base? Mme de Langeais kept her thoughts to

herself, but is it not permissible to suppose that M. de
Montriveau was no longer indifferent to her? And has not a man

gained ground immensely when a woman thinks about him? He is
bound to make progress with her either one way or the other

afterwards.
Put any feminine creature under the feet of a furious horse or

other fearsome beast; she will certainly drop on her knees and
look for death; but if the brute shows a milder mood and does not

utterly slay her, she will love the horse, lion, bull, or what
not, and will speak of him quite at her ease. The Duchess felt

that she was under the lion's paws; she quaked, but she did not
hate him.

The man and woman thus singularly placed with regard to each
other met three times in society during the course of that week.

Each time, in reply to coquettish questioning glances, the
Duchess received a respectful bow, and smiles tinged with such

savage irony, that all her apprehensions over the card in the
morning were revived at night. Our lives are simply such as our

feelings shape them for us; and the feelings of these two had
hollowed out a great gulf between them

The Comtesse de Serizy, the Marquis de Ronquerolles's sister,
gave a great ball at the beginning of the following week, and Mme

de Langeais was sure to go to it. Armand was the first person
whom the Duchess saw when she came into the room, and this time

Armand was looking out for her, or so she thought at least. The
two exchanged a look, and suddenly the woman felt a cold

perspiration break from every pore. She had thought all along
that Montriveau was capable of taking reprisals in some

unheard-of way proportioned to their condition, and now the
revenge had been discovered, it was ready, heated, and boiling.

Lightnings flashed from the foiled lover's eyes, his face was
radiant with exultant vengeance. And the Duchess? Her eyes were

haggard in spite of her resolution to be cool and insolent. She
went to take her place beside the Comtesse de Serizy, who could

not help exclaiming, "Dear Antoinette! what is the matter with
you? You are enough to frighten one."

"I shall be all right after a quadrille," she answered, giving
a hand to a young man who came up at that moment.

Mme de Langeais waltzed that evening with a sort of excitement
and transport which redoubled Montriveau's lowering looks. He

stood in front of the line of spectators, who were amusing
themselves by looking on. Every time that SHE came past him, his

eyes darted down upon her eddying face; he might have been a
tiger with the prey in his grasp. The waltz came to an end, Mme

de Langeais went back to her place beside the Countess, and
Montriveau never took his eyes off her, talking all the while

with a stranger.
"One of the things that struck me most on the journey," he was

saying (and the Duchess listened with all her ears), "was the
remark which the man makes at Westminster when you are shown the

axe with which a man in a mask cut off Charles the First's head,
so they tell you. The King made it first of all to some

inquisitive person, and they repeat it still in memory of him."
"What does the man say?" asked Mme de Serizy.

" `Do not touch the axe!' " replied Montriveau, and there was
menace in the sound of his voice.

"Really, my Lord Marquis," said Mme de Langeais, "you tell
this old story that everybody knows if they have been to London,

and look at my neck in such a melodramatic way that you seem to
me to have an axe in your hand."

The Duchess was in a cold sweat, but nevertheless she laughed as
she spoke the last words.

"But circumstances give the story a quite new application,"