him fast than the threads which a spider throws
from bush to bush on a summer morn will hold fast a bird which flies
athwart them!

The gayest of the gay to all outward appearance, Angelique missed sorely
the presence of Le Gardeur, and she resented his absence from the ball
as a slight and a wrong to her sovereignty, which never released a lover
from his allegiance.

The fair demoiselles at the ball, less resolutely ambitious than
Angelique, found by degrees, in the devotion of other cavaliers, ample
compensation for only so much of the Intendant's favor as he liberally
bestowed on all the sex; but that did not content Angelique: she looked
with sharpest eyes of inquisition upon the bright glances which now and
then shot across the room where she sat by the side of Bigot, apparently
steeped in happiness, but with a serpent biting at her heart, for she
felt that Bigot was really unimpressible as a stone under her most
subtle manipulation.

Her thoughts ran in a round of ceaseless repetition of the question:
"Why can I not subdue Francois Bigot as I have subdued every other man
who exposed his weak side to my power?" and Angelique pressed her foot
hard upon the floor as the answer returned ever the same: "The heart of
the Intendant is away at Beaumanoir! That pale, pensive lady" (Angelique
used a more coarse and emphatic word) "stands between him and me like a
spectre as she is, and obstructs the path I have sacrificed so much to
enter!"

"I cannot endure the heat of the ballroom, Bigot!" said Angelique; "I
will dance no more to-night! I would rather sit and catch fireflies on
the terrace than chase forever without overtaking it the bird that has
escaped from my bosom!"

The Intendant, ever attentive to her wishes, offered his arm to lead
her into the pleached walks of the illuminated garden. Angelique rose,
gathered up her rich train, and with an air of royal coquetry took his
arm and accompanied the Intendant on a promenade down the grand alley of
roses.

"What favorite bird has escaped from your bosom, Angelique?" asked
the Intendant, who had, however, a shrewd guess of the meaning of her
metaphor.

"The pleasure I had in anticipation of this ball! The bird has flown, I
know not where or how. I have no pleasure here at all!" exclaimed she,
petulantly, although she knew the ball had been really got up mainly for
her own pleasure.

"And yet Momus himself might have been your father, and Euphrosyne your
moth