extreme indifference I have brought him back, by showing
him that he suspected you wrongly, to the ardours of the warmest love.
Well, I need only tell him that I was mistaken, and fix his wandering
suspicions upon any man whatever, and I shall take him away from you,
even as I have brought him back. I need give you no proof of what I say;
you know perfectly well that I am speaking the truth."

"And what object had you, in acting this part?"

"To prove to you, madame, that at my will I can cause you to be sad or
joyful, cherished or neglected, adored or hated. Madame, listen to me: I
love you."

"You insult me, monsieur!" cried the marquise, trying to withdraw the
bridle of her horse from the abbe's hands.

"No fine words, my dear sister-in-law; for, with me, I warn you, they
will be lost. To tell a woman one loves her is never an insult; only
there are a thousand different ways of obliging her to respond to that
love. The error is to make a mistake in the way that one employs--that
is the whole of the matter."

"And may I inquire which you have chosen?" asked the marquise, with a
crushing smile of contempt.

"The only one that could succeed with a calm, cold, strong woman like
you, the conviction that your interest requires you to respond to my
love."

"Since you profess to know me so well," answered the marquise, with
another effort, as unsuccessful as the former, to free the bridle of
her horse, "you should know how a woman like me would receive such an
overture; say to yourself what I might say to you, and above all, what I
might say to my husband."

The abbe smiled.

"Oh, as to that," he returned, "you can do as you please, madame. Tell
your husband whatever you choose; repeat our conversation word for word;
add whatever your memory may furnish, true or false, that may be most
convincing against me; then, when you have thoroughly given him his cue,
when you think yourself sure of him, I will say two words to him, and
turn him inside out like this glove. That is what I had to say to you,
madame I will not detain you longer. You may have in me a devoted friend
or a mortal enemy. Reflect."

At these words the abbe loosed his hold upon the bridle of the
marquise's horse and left her free to guide it as she would. The
marquise put her beast to a trot, so as to show neither fear nor haste.
The abbe followed her, and both rejoined the hunt.

The abbe had spoken truly. The marquise, notwithstanding the threat