returned he.
"How so; pray tell me, for pity's sake?"
"In this way, madame--you have touched the axe," said
Montriveau, lowering his voice.
"What an enchanting prophecy!" returned she, smiling with
assumed grace. "And when is my head to fall?"
"I have no wish to see that pretty head of yours cut off. I
only fear some great
misfortune for you. If your head were
clipped close, would you feel no regrets for the
dainty golden
hair that you turn to such good account?"
"There are those for whom a woman would love to make such a
sacrifice; even if, as often happens, it is for the sake of a man
who cannot make allowances for an
outbreak of temper."
"Quite so. Well, and if some wag were to spoil your beauty on a
sudden by some
chemical process, and you, who are but eighteen
for us, were to be a hundred years old?"
"Why, the
smallpox is our Battle of Waterloo, monsieur," she
interrupted. "After it is over we find out those who love us
sincerely."
"Would you not regret the lovely face that?"
"Oh! indeed I should, but less for my own sake than for the sake
of someone else whose delight it might have been. And, after
all, if I were loved, always loved, and truly loved, what would
my beauty matter to me?--What do you say, Clara?"
"It is a dangerous speculation," replied Mme de Serizy.
"Is it permissible to ask His Majesty the King of Sorcerers when
I made the mistake of
touching the axe, since I have not been to
London as yet?----"
"NOT SO," he answered in English, with a burst of ironical
laughter.
"And when will the
punishment begin?"
At this Montriveau
coolly took out his watch, and ascertained the
hour with a truly
appalling air of
conviction.
"A
dreadfulmisfortune will
befall you before this day is out."
"I am not a child to be easily
frightened, or rather, I am a
child
ignorant of danger," said the Duchess. "I shall dance
now without fear on the edge of the precipice."
"I am
delighted to know that you have so much strength of
character," he answered, as he watched her go to take her place
in a square dance.
But the Duchess, in spite of her
apparentcontempt for Armand's
dark prophecies, was really
frightened. Her late lover's
presence weighed upon her morally and
physically with a sense of
oppression that scarcely ceased when he left the ballroom. And
yet when she had drawn freer
breath, and enjoyed the
relief for a
moment, she found herself regretting the
sensation of dread, so
greedy of
extremesensations is the
feminine nature. The regret
was not love, but it was certainly akin to other feelings which
prepare the way for love. And then--as if the
impression which
Montriveau had made upon her were suddenly revived--she
recollected his air of
conviction as he took out his watch, and
in a sudden spasm of dread she went out.
By this time it was about
midnight. One of her servants, waiting
with her pelisse, went down to order her
carriage. On her way
home she fell naturally enough to musing over M. de Montriveau's
prediction. Arrived in her own
courtyard, as she
supposed, she
entered a vestibule almost like that of her own hotel, and
suddenly saw that the
staircase was different. She was in a
strange house. Turning to call her servants, she was attacked by
several men, who rapidly flung a
handkerchief over her mouth,
bound her hand and foot, and carried her off. She shrieked
aloud.
"Madame, our orders are to kill you if you scream," a voice
said in her ear.
So great was the Duchess's
terror, that she could never recollect
how nor by whom she was
transported. When she came to herself,
she was lying on a couch in a bachelor's
lodging, her hands and
feet tied with
silken cords. In spite of herself, she shrieked
aloud as she looked round and met Armand de Montriveau's eyes.
He was sitting in his dressing-gown, quietly smoking a cigar in
his armchair.
"Do not cry out, Mme la Duchesse," he said,
coollytaking the
cigar out of his mouth; "I have a
headache. Besides, I will