ipal thought, and one that
took precedence of all others, was to devise means of leaving this money
for M. Fouquet without his possibly learning from whom the gift had
come. This idea, naturally enough, was the first to present itself to
her mind. But although, on reflection, it appeared difficult to carry
out, she did not despair of success. She would then ring to summon M.
Fouquet and make her escape, happier than if, instead of having given
a million, she had herself found one. But, being there, and having seen
the boudoir so coquettishly decorated that it might almost be said the
least particle of dust had but the moment before been removed by the
servants; having observed the drawing-room, so perfectly arranged that
it might almost be said her presence there had driven away the fairies
who were its occupants, she asked herself if the glance or gaze of
those whom she had displaced--whether spirits, fairies, elves, or human
creatures--had not already recognized her. To secure success, it
was necessary that some steps should be seriously taken, and it was
necessary also that the superintendent should comprehend the serious
position in which he was placed, in order to yield compliance with
the generous fancies of a woman; all the fascinations of an eloquent
friendship would be required to persuade him, and, should this be
insufficient, the maddening influence of a devoted passion, which, in
its resolute determination to carry conviction, would not be turned
aside. Was not the superintendent, indeed, known for his delicacy and
dignity of feeling? Would he allow himself to accept from any woman that
of which she had stripped herself? No! He would resist, and if any voice
in the world could overcome his resistance, it would be the voice of the
woman he loved.

Another doubt, and that a cruel one, suggested itself to Madame de
Belliere with a sharp, acute pain, like a dagger thrust. Did he really
love her? Would that volatile mind, that inconstant heart, be likely to
be fixed for a moment, even were it to gaze upon an angel? Was it not
the same with Fouquet, notwithstanding his genius and his uprightness of
conduct, as with those conquerors on the field of battle who shed tears
when they have gained a victory? "I must learn if it be so, and must
judge of that for myself," said the marquise. "Who can tell whether that
heart, so coveted, is not common in its impulses, and full of alloy? Who
can tell if that mind, when the to