everything.

They were satisfied that their pure devotion deserved the most
munificent rewards. It was only the most modest who declared that he
would be content with the epaulets of a lieutenant-general.

Many were the recriminations, stinging words, and bitter reproaches.

The Marquis de Courtornieu, who acted as president of the council, was
nearly exhausted with exclaiming:

"Be calm, gentlemen, be calm! A little moderation, if you please!"

"All these men are mad," thought Martial, with difficulty restraining
an intense desire to laugh; "they are insane enough to be placed in a
mad-house."

But he was not obliged to render a report of the _seance_. The
deliberations were soon fortunately interrupted by a summons to dinner.

Mlle. Blanche, when the young marquis rejoined her, quite forgot to
question him about the doings of the council.

In fact, what did the hopes and plans of these people matter to her.

She cared very little about them or about the people themselves, since
they were below her father in rank, and most of them were not as rich.

An absorbing thought--a thought of her future, and of her happiness,
filled her mind to the exclusion of all other subjects.

The few moments that she had passed alone, after Marie-Anne's departure,
she had spent in grave reflection.

Martial's mind and person pleased her. In him were combined all the
qualifications which any ambitious woman would desire in a husband--and
she decided that he should be _her_ husband. Probably she would not have
arrived at this conclusion so quickly, had it not been for the feeling
of jealousy aroused in her heart. But from the very moment that she
could believe or suspect that another woman was likely to dispute the
possession of Martial with her, she desired him.

From that moment she was completely controlled by one of those
strange passions in which the heart has no part, but which take entire
possession of the brain and lead to the worst of follies.

Let the woman whose pulse has never quickened its beating under the
influence of this counterfeit of love, cast the first stone.

That she could be vanquished in this struggle for supremacy; that there
could be any doubt of the result, were thoughts which never once entered
the mind of Mlle. Blanche.

She had been told so often, it had been repeated again and again, that
the man whom she would choose must esteem himself fortunate above all
others.

She had seen her father