simple that he'll mislead you into feeling no
distrust. But his penetration, which is wholly retrospective, acts
later, and frustrates calculation. You may hoodwink him to-day, but
to-morrow nothing can dupe him."

"Ah!" cried the princess, "if I were only thirty years old what
amusement I might have with him! The one enjoyment I have lacked up to
the present is a man of intellect to fool. I have had only partners,
never adversaries. Love was a mere game instead of being a battle."

"Dear princess, admit that I am very generous; for, after all, you
know!--charity begins at home."

The two women looked at each other, laughing, and clasped hands in a
friendly way. Assuredly they both knew each other's secrets, and this
was not the first man nor the first service that one had given to the
other; for sincere and lasting friendships between women of the world
need to be cemented by a few little crimes. When two friends are liable
to kill each other reciprocally, and see a poisoned dagger in each
other's hand, they present a touching spectacle of harmony, which is
never troubled, unless, by chance, one of them is careless enough to
drop her weapon.

So, eight days later, a little dinner such as are given to intimates by
verbal invitation only, during which the doors are closed to all other
visitors, took place at Madame d'Espard's house. Five persons were
invited,--Emile Blondet and Madame de Montcornet, Daniel d'Arthez,
Rastignac, and the Princesse de Cadignan. Counting the mistress of the
house, there were as many men as women.

Chance never exerted itself to make wiser preparations than those which
opened the way to a meeting between d'Arthez and Madame de Cadignan.
The princess is still considered one of the chief authorities on dress,
which, to women, is the first of arts. On this occasion she wore a gown
of blue velvet with flowing white sleeves, and a tulle guimpe, slightly
frilled and edged with blue, covering the shoulders, and rising nearly
to the throat, as we see in several of Raffaele's portraits. Her maid
had dressed her hair with white heather, adroitly placed among its blond
cascades, which were one of the great beauties to which she owed her
celebrity.

Certainly Diane did not look to be more than twenty-five years old.
Four years of solitude and repose had restored the freshness of her
complexion. Besides, there are moments when the desire to please gives
an increase of beauty to women. The will is no