aid la Peyrade, "do you know our secret enemies?"

"Perhaps I do," replied the countess, with another smile.

"May I dare to utter a suspicion, madame?" said la Peyrade, with some
agitation.

"Yes, say what you think," replied Madame de Godollo. "I shall not blame
you if you guess right."

"Well, madame, our enemies, Thuillier's and mine, are--a woman."

"Supposing that is so," said the countess; "do you know how many lines
Richelieu required from a man's hand in order to hang him?"

"Four," replied la Peyrade.

"You can imagine, then, that a pamphlet of two hundred pages might
afford a--slightly intriguing woman sufficient ground for persecution."

"I see it all, madame, I understand it!" cried la Peyrade, with
animation. "I believe that woman to be one of the elite of her sex, with
as much mind and malice as Richelieu! Adorable magician! it is she who
has set in motion the police and the gendarmes; but, more than that, it
is she who withholds that cross the ministers were about to give."

"If that be so," said the countess, "why struggle against her?"

"Ah! I struggle no longer," said la Peyrade. Then, with an assumed air
of contrition, he added, "You must, indeed, _hate_ me, madame."

"Not quite as much as you may think," replied the countess; "but, after
all, suppose that I do hate you?"

"Ah! madame," cried la Peyrade, ardently, "I should then be the happiest
of unhappy men; for that hatred would seem to me sweeter and more
precious than your indifference. But you do not hate me; why should
you feel to me that most blessed feminine sentiment which Scribe has
depicted with such delicacy and wit?"

Madame de Godollo did not answer immediately. She lowered her eyelids,
and the deeper breathing of her bosom gave to her voice when she did
speak a tremulous tone:--

"The hatred of a woman!" she said. "Is a man of your stoicism able to
perceive it?"

"Ah! yes, madame," replied la Peyrade, "I do indeed perceive it, but not
to revolt against it; on the contrary, I bless the harshness that deigns
to hurt me. Now that I know my beautiful and avowed enemy, I shall not
despair of touching her heart; for never again will I follow any road
but the one that she points out to me, never will I march under any
banner but hers. I shall wait--for her inspiration, to think; for her
will, to will; for her commands, to act. In all things I will be her
auxiliary,--more than that, her slave; and if she still repulses me wit