,
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 enterprising knight 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 preaching morality 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 impotence more keenly.

At last the Baron had found a seat by Madame de Soulanges. His eyes
stole a long look at her neck, as fresh as dew and as fragrant as field
flowers. He admired close at hand the beauty which had amazed him from
afar. He could see a small, well-shod foot, and measure with his eye
a slender and graceful shape. At that time women wore their sash tied
close under the bosom, in imitation of Greek statues, a pitiless fashion
for those whose bust was faulty. As he cast furtive glances at the
Countess' figure, Martial was enchanted with its perfection.

"You have not danced once this evening, madame," said he in soft and
flattering tones. "Not, I should suppose, for lack of a partner?"

"I never go to parties; I am quite unknown," replied Madame de Soulanges
coldly, not having understood the look by which her aunt had just
conveyed to her that she was to attract the Baron.

Martial, to give himself cou