cited the
admiration of the whole quarter in which he resided--it was covered
with allegorical paintings, and clouds scattered over with stars. The
marquise entered this somewhat extraordinary vehicle, sitting opposite
the clerk, who endeavored to put his knees out of the way, afraid even
of touching the marquise's dress. It was the clerk, too, who told the
coachman, who was very proud of having a marquise to drive, to take the
road to Saint-Mande.

Chapter XXVIII. The Dowry.

Monsieur Faucheux's horses were serviceable animals, with thickset knees
and legs that had some difficulty in moving. Like the carriage, they
belonged to the earlier part of the century. They were not as fleet as
the English horses of M. Fouquet, and consequently it took two hours
to get to Saint-Mande. Their progress, it might be said, was majestic.
Majesty, however, precludes hurry. The marquise stopped the carriage at
the door so well known to her, although she had seen it only once, under
circumstances, it will now be remembered, no less painful than those
which brought her now to it again. She drew a key from her pocket,
and inserted it into the lock, pushed open the door, which noiselessly
yielded to her touch, and directed the clerk to carry the chest upstairs
to the first floor. The weight of the chest was so great that the clerk
was obliged to get the coachman to assist him with it. They placed it
in a small cabinet, ante-room, or boudoir rather, adjoining the saloon
where we once saw M. Fouquet at the marquise's feet. Madame de Belliere
gave the coachman a louis, smiled gracefully at the clerk, and dismissed
them both. She closed the door after them, and waited in the room, alone
and barricaded. There was no servant to be seen about the rooms, but
everything was prepared as though some invisible genius had divined the
wishes and desires of an expected guest. The fire was laid, candles
in the candelabra, refreshments upon the table, books scattered about,
fresh-cut flowers in the vases. One might almost have imagined it an
enchanted house.

The marquise lighted the candles, inhaled the perfume of the flowers,
sat down, and was soon plunged in profound thought. Her deep musings,
melancholy though they were, were not untinged with a certain vague joy.
Spread out before her was a treasure, a million wrung from her fortune
as a gleaner plucks the blue corn-flower from her crown of flowers. She
conjured up the sweetest dreams. Her princ