rtals, no power on earth can be so haughty.

"M. le Marquis, I am in despair that God should not have invented
some nobler way for a man to confirm the gift of his heart than by the
manifestation of prodigiously vulgar desires. We become bond-slaves
when we give ourselves body and soul, but a man is bound to nothing by
accepting the gift. Who will assure me that love will last? The very
love that I might show for you at every moment, the better to keep your
love, might serve you as a reason for deserting me. I have no wish to be
a second edition of Mme de Beauseant. Who can ever know what it is that
keeps you beside us? Our persistent coldness of heart is the cause of
an unfailing passion in some of you; other men ask for an untiring
devotion, to be idolized at every moment; some for gentleness, others
for tyranny. No woman in this world as yet has really read the riddle of
man's heart."

There was a pause. When she spoke again it was in a different tone.

"After all, my friend, you cannot prevent a woman from trembling at the
question, 'Will this love last always?' Hard though my words may be,
the dread of losing you puts them into my mouth. Oh, me! it is not I
who speaks, dear, it is reason; and how should anyone so mad as I be
reasonable? In truth, I am nothing of the sort."

The poignant irony of her answer had changed before the end into the
most musical accents in which a woman could find utterance for ingenuous
love. To listen to her words was to pass in a moment from martyrdom to
heaven. Montriveau grew pale; and for the first time in his life, he
fell on his knees before a woman. He kissed the Duchess's skirt hem, her
knees, her feet; but for the credit of the Faubourg Saint-Germain it is
necessary to respect the mysteries of its boudoirs, where many are fain
to take the utmost that Love can give without giving proof of love in
return.

The Duchess thought herself generous when she suffered herself to be
adored. But Montriveau was in a wild frenzy of joy over her complete
surrender of the position.

"Dear Antoinette," he cried. "Yes, you are right; I will not have you
doubt any longer. I too am trembling at this moment--lest the angel of
my life should leave me; I wish I could invent some tie that might bind
us to each other irrevocably."

"Ah!" she said, under her breath, "so I was right, you see."

"Let me say all that I have to say; I will scatter all your fears with
a word. Listen! if I deserted yo