first time the thought had flashed its lurid light across
her mind. It had seemed of comparatively light import when it was only
the suggestion of her own wild resentment. It seemed a word of terrible
power heard from the lips of Bigot, yet Angelique knew well he did not
in the least seriously mean what he said.

"It is but his deceit and flattery," she said to herself, "an idle
phrase to cozen a woman. I will not ask him to explain it, I shall
interpret it in my own way! Bigot has said words he understood not
himself; it is for me to give them form and meaning."

She grew quiet under these reflections, and bent her head in seeming
acquiescence to the Intendant's decision. The calmness was apparent
only.

"You are a true woman, Angelique," said he, "but no politician: you
have never heard thunder at Versailles. Would that I dared to grant your
request. I offer you my homage and all else I have to give you to half
my kingdom."

Angelique's eyes flashed fire. "It is a fairy tale after all!" exclaimed
she; "you will not grant the lettre de cachet?"

"As I told you before, I dare not grant that, Angelique; anything
else--"

"You dare not! You, the boldest Intendant ever sent to New France, and
say you dare not! A man who is worth the name dare do anything in the
world for a woman if he loves her, and for such a man a true woman
will kiss the ground he walks on, and die at his feet if need be!"
Angelique's thoughts reverted for a moment to Le Gardeur, not to Bigot,
as she said this, and thought how he would do it for her sake if she
asked him.

"My God, Angelique, you drive this matter hard, but I like you better so
than when you are in your silkiest humor."

"Bigot, it were better you had granted my request." Angelique clenched
her fingers hard together, and a cruel expression lit her eyes for a
moment. It was like the glance of a lynx seeking a hidden treasure in
the ground: it penetrated the thick walls of Beaumanoir! She suppressed
her anger, however, lest Bigot should guess the dark imaginings and
half-formed resolution which brooded in her mind.

With her inimitable power of transformation she put on her air of
gaiety again and exclaimed,--"Pshaw! let it go, Bigot. I am really no
politician, as you say; I am only a woman almost stifled with the heat
and closeness of this horrid ballroom. Thank God, day is dawning in the
great eastern window yonder; the dancers are beginning to depart! My
brother is waiting