make the smallest advances to that young lady? It would be at the risk
of your life perhaps."
"To lose your good graces, madame, would be worse than to lose my
life."
"Martial," said the Countess
severely, "she is Madame de Soulanges.
Her husband would blow your brains out--if, indeed, you have any----"
"Ha! ha!" laughed the coxcomb. "What! the Colonel can leave the man in
peace who has robbed him of your love, and then would fight for his
wife! What a subversion of principles!--I beg of you to allow me to
dance with the little lady. You will then be able to judge how little
love that heart of ice could feel for you; for, if the Colonel
disapproves of my dancing with his wife after allowing me to----"
"But she loves her husband."
"A still further
obstacle that I shall have the pleasure of
conquering."
"But she is married."
"A whimsical objection!"
"Ah!" said the Countess, with a bitter smile, "you
punish us alike for
our faults and our repentance!"
"Do not be angry!" exclaimed Martial
eagerly. "Oh,
forgive me, I
beseech you. There, I will think no more of Madame de Soulanges."
"You
deserve that I should send you to her."
"I am off then," said the Baron, laughing, "and I shall return more
devoted to you than ever. You will see that the prettiest woman in the
world cannot
capture the heart that is yours."
"That is to say, that you want to win Colonel Montcornet's horse?"
"Ah! Traitor!" said he, threatening his friend with his finger. The
Colonel smiled and joined them; the Baron gave him the seat near the
Countess,
saying to her with a sardonic accent:
"Here, madame, is a man who boasted that he could win your good graces
in one evening."
He went away, thinking himself clever to have piqued the Countess'
pride and done Montcornet an ill turn; but, in spite of his habitual
keenness, he had not appreciated the irony
underlying Madame de
Vaudremont's speech, and did not
perceive that she had come as far to
meet his friend as his friend towards her, though both were
unconscious of it.
At that moment when the
lawyer went fluttering up to the candelabrum
by which Madame de Soulanges sat, pale, timid, and
apparently alive
only in her eyes, her husband came to the door of the ballroom, his
eyes flashing with anger. The old Duchess,
watchful of everything,
flew to her
nephew, begged him to give her his arm and find her
carriage, affecting to be mortally bored, and hoping thus to prevent a
vexatious
outbreak. Before going she fired a
singular glance of
intelligence at her niece, indicating the
enterprisingknight who was
about to address her, and this signal seemed to say, "There he is,
avenge yourself!"
Madame de Vaudremont caught these looks of the aunt and niece; a
sudden light dawned on her mind; she was frightened lest she was the
dupe of this old woman, so
cunning and so practised in intrigue.
"That perfidious Duchess," said she to herself, "has perhaps been
amusing herself by
preachingmorality to me while playing me some
spiteful trick of her own."
At this thought Madame de Vaudremont's pride was perhaps more roused
than her
curiosity to disentangle the thread of this intrigue. In the
absorption of mind to which she was a prey she was no longer mistress
of herself. The Colonel, interpreting to his own
advantage the
embarrassment
evident in the Countess' manner and speech, became more
ardent and pressing. The old blase diplomates,
amusing themselves by
watching the play of faces, had never found so many intrigues at once
to watch or guess at. The passions agitating the two couples were to
be seen with variations at every step in the
crowded rooms, and
reflected with different shades in other countenances. The spectacle
of so many vivid passions, of all these lovers' quarrels, these
pleasing revenges, these cruel favors, these
flaming glances, of all
this
ardent life diffused around them, only made them feel their