book. From the depths of her large arm-chair, completely filled by
the flow of her dress, the coquette of the past, while talking to a
diplomate who had sought her out to hear the anecdotes she told so
cleverly, was admiring herself in the younger coquette; she felt kindly
to her, seeing how bravely she disguised her annoyance and grief of
heart. Madame de Vaudremont, in fact, felt as much sorrow as she feigned
cheerfulness; she had believed that she had found in Martial a man of
talent on whose support she could count for adorning her life with all
the enchantment of power; and at this moment she perceived her mistake,
as injurious to her reputation as to her good opinion of herself. In
her, as in other women of that time, the suddenness of their passions
increased their vehemence. Souls which love much and love often, suffer
no less than those which burn themselves out in one affection. Her
liking for Martial was but of yesterday, it is true, but the least
experienced surgeon knows that the pain caused by the amputation of a
healthy limb is more acute than the removal of a diseased one. There was
a future before Madame de Vaudremont's passion for Martial, while her
previous love had been hopeless, and poisoned by Soulanges' remorse.

The old Duchess, who was watching for an opportunity of speaking to the
Countess, hastened to dismiss her Ambassador; for in comparison with a
lover's quarrel every interest pales, even with an old woman. To engage
battle, Madame de Lansac shot at the younger lady a sardonic glance
which made the Countess fear lest her fate was in the dowager's hands.
There are looks between woman and woman which are like the torches
brought on at the climax of a tragedy. No one who had not known
that Duchess could appreciate the terror which the expression of her
countenance inspired in the Countess.

Madame de Lansac was tall, and her features led people to say, "That
must have been a handsome woman!" She coated her cheeks so thickly with
rouge that the wrinkles were scarcely visible; but her eyes, far from
gaining a factitious brilliancy from this strong carmine, looked all
the more dim. She wore a vast quantity of diamonds, and dressed with
sufficient taste not to make herself ridiculous. Her sharp nose promised
epigram. A well-fitted set of teeth preserved a smile of such irony as
recalled that of Voltaire. At the same time, the exquisite politeness of
her manners so effectually softened the mischi