ons--such as, "What is
love?" "Do you think that friendship can exist between the sexes?"
"Is it sweeter to love or to beloved?"--succeeded each other with
corresponding replies. All at once the Marquise gave a slight scream,
and they saw a drop of blood trickle down her forehead. She laughed, and
showed her little silver pencil-case, which had a pen at one end, with
which she had scratched her forehead in her abstraction.

The attention of Camors was redoubled from this moment--the more so from
a rapid and significant glance from the Marquise, which seemed to warn
him of an approaching event. She was sitting a little in shadow in one
corner, in order to meditate more at ease on questions and answers. An
instant later Camors was passing around the room collecting notes. She
deposited one in the basket, slipping another into his hand with the
cat-like dexterity of her sex. In the midst of these papers, which
each person amused himself with reading, Camors found no difficulty in
retaining without remark the clandestine note of the Marquise. It was
written in red ink, a little pale, but very legible, and contained these
words:

"I belong, soul, body, honor, riches, to my best-beloved cousin,
Louis de Camors, from this moment and forever.

"Written and signed with the pure blood of my veins, March 5, 185-.

"CHARLOTTE DE LUC. D'ESTRELLES."

All the blood of Camors surged to his brain--a cloud came over his
eyes--he rested his hand on the marble table, then suddenly his face
was covered with a mortal paleness. These symptoms did not arise from
remorse or fear; his passion overshadowed all. He felt a boundless joy.
He saw the world at his feet.

It was by this act of frankness and of extraordinary audacity, seasoned
by the bloody mysticism so familiar to the sixteenth century, which she
adored, that the Marquise de Campvallon surrendered herself to her lover
and sealed their fatal union.

CHAPTER XIV. AN ANONYMOUS LETTER

Nearly six weeks had passed after this last episode. It was five o'clock
in the afternoon and the Marquise awaited Camors, who was to come after
the session of the Corps Legislatif. There was a sudden knock at one of
the doors of her room, which communicated with her husband's apartment.
It was the General. She remarked with surprise, and even with fear, that
his countenance was agitated.

"What is the matter with you, my dear?" she said. "Are you ill?"

"No," replied the Genera