ndering anything base? Mme de Langeais kept her
thoughts to herself, but is it not permissible to suppose that M. de
Montriveau was no longer indifferent to her? And has not a man gained
ground immensely when a woman thinks about him? He is bound to make
progress with her either one way or the other afterwards.

Put any feminine creature under the feet of a furious horse or other
fearsome beast; she will certainly drop on her knees and look for death;
but if the brute shows a milder mood and does not utterly slay her,
she will love the horse, lion, bull, or what not, and will speak of him
quite at her ease. The Duchess felt that she was under the lion's paws;
she quaked, but she did not hate him.

The man and woman thus singularly placed with regard to each other met
three times in society during the course of that week. Each time,
in reply to coquettish questioning glances, the Duchess received a
respectful bow, and smiles tinged with such savage irony, that all her
apprehensions over the card in the morning were revived at night.
Our lives are simply such as our feelings shape them for us; and the
feelings of these two had hollowed out a great gulf between them.

The Comtesse de Serizy, the Marquis de Ronquerolles' sister, gave a
great ball at the beginning of the following week, and Mme de Langeais
was sure to go to it. Armand was the first person whom the Duchess saw
when she came into the room, and this time Armand was looking out for
her, or so she thought at least. The two exchanged a look, and suddenly
the woman felt a cold perspiration break from every pore. She had
thought all along that Montriveau was capable of taking reprisals in
some unheard-of way proportioned to their condition, and now the revenge
had been discovered, it was ready, heated, and boiling. Lightnings
flashed from the foiled lover's eyes, his face was radiant with exultant
vengeance. And the Duchess? Her eyes were haggard in spite of her
resolution to be cool and insolent. She went to take her place beside
the Comtesse de Serizy, who could not help exclaiming, "Dear Antoinette!
what is the matter with you? You are enough to frighten one."

"I shall be all right after a quadrille," she answered, giving a hand to
a young man who came up at that moment.

Mme de Langeais waltzed that evening with a sort of excitement and
transport which redoubled Montriveau's lowering looks. He stood in front
of the line of spectators, who were amusing thems