nder the Spaniard's anxious glance.

From that day, her mind was possessed of a new idea that imperiously
directed it. When Rosas had returned to her, she had only regarded him
as a possible lover, rich and agreeable. The mistress of a minister, she
would become the mistress of a duke. A millionaire duke. The change
would be profitable, assuming that she could not retain both. Her
calculations were speedily made. She would only make Rosas pay more
dearly for the resistance he had offered before surrendering himself.

But now, abruptly and without her having thought of it, he had, with the
incautiousness of a soldier who discloses his attack and lays himself
open to a bully who tries to provoke him, the duke showed her the
extent of his violent passion by a single phrase that feverishly
agitated her.

His mistress! Why his mistress, since he had shown her that perhaps?--

"Idiot that I am!" thought Marianne. "Suppose I play my cards for
marriage?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"It will cost no more!"

Married! Duchess! and Duchesse de Rosas! At first she laughed. Duchess!
I am asking a little from you! The mistress of Pierre Meran, the
artist's drudge, the wretch who abducted her and debauched her, adding
his depravity to hers, and who died of consumption while quite young,
after having plunged this girl into vice, this Marianne Kayser, born and
moulded for vice: she a duchess!

"It would be too funny, my dear!" she thought.

Never had Vaudrey, whom she saw that evening at Rue Prony, seemed so
provincial, or, as she said, so _Sulpice_. Besides, he was gloomy and
unable to express himself clearly at first, but finally he brought
himself to acknowledge that he was embarrassed about providing for the
bill of exchange--she understood--

"No, I do not know!"

"The bill of exchange in favor of Monsieur Gochard!"

"Ah! that is so. Well! if you cannot pay it, my dear, I will advise--I
will seek--"

There was nothing to seek. Vaudrey would evidently get himself out of
the affair--but the document matured at an unfortunate time. He did not
dare to mortgage La Sauliere, his farm at Saint-Laurent-du-Pont. He had
reflected that Adrienne might learn all about it. And then--

Marianne broke in upon his confidences.

"Don't speak to me about these money matters, my friend, you know that
sort of thing disgusts me!--"

"I understand you and ask your pardon."

They were to see each other again the next day, as parliam