De Laurebourgs, over
the same road which but a short time before she had traveled full of
expectation and hope. The sudden appearance of the Duke de Champdoce
had filled her with alarm, but her imagination was not of that kind upon
which unpleasant impressions remain for any long period; for after she
had regained her room, and thrown aside her out-door attire, and removed
all signs of mud-stains, she once more became herself, and even laughed
a little rippling laugh at all her own past alarms. Overwhelmed with the
shame of her repulse, she had threatened Norbert; but as she reasoned
calmly, she felt that it was not he for whom she felt the most violent
animosity. All her hatred was reserved for that woman who had come
between her and her lover--for Marie de Puymandour. Some hidden feeling
warned her that she must look into Marie's past life for some reason for
the rupture of her engagement with Norbert, though the banns had already
been published. This was the frame of mind in which Diana was when the
Viscount de Mussidan was introduced to her, the friend of the brother
whose untimely death had left her such a wealthy heiress. He was tall
and well made, with handsomely chiseled features; and, endowed with
physical strength and health, Octave de Mussidan had the additional
advantages of noble descent and princely fortune. Two women, both
renowned for their wit and beauty, his aunt and his mother, had been
intrusted with the education which would but enable him to shine in
society.

Dispatched to Paris, with an ample allowance, at the age of twenty, he
found himself, thanks to his birth and connections, in the very center
of the world of fashion. At the sight of Mademoiselle de Laurebourg
his heart was touched for the first time. Diana had never been more
charmingly fascinating than she was at this period. Octave de Mussidan
did not suit her fancy; there was too great a difference between him and
Norbert, and nothing would ever efface from her memory the recollection
of the young Marquis as he had appeared before her on the first day of
their meeting in the Forest of Bevron, clad in his rustic garb, with
the game he had shot dangling from his hand. She delighted to feast her
recollection, and thought fondly of his shyness and diffidence when
he hardly ventured to raise his eyes to hers. Octave, however, fell a
victim at the first glance he caught of Diana, and permitted himself
to be swept away by the tide of his private