out
her vitals by flinging her over his head? Would he trample her body
under his feet? When, where, and how would he get her into his power?
Would he make her suffer very much, and what kind of pain would he
inflict? She repented of her conduct. There were hours when, if he had
come, she would have gone to his arms in complete self-surrender.

Every night before she slept she saw Montriveau's face; every night it
wore a different aspect. Sometimes she saw his bitter smile, sometimes
the Jovelike knitting of the brows; or his leonine look, or some
disdainful movement of the shoulders made him terrible for her. Next day
the card seemed stained with blood. The name of Montriveau stirred her
now as the presence of the fiery, stubborn, exacting lover had never
done. Her apprehensions gathered strength in the silence. She was
forced, without aid from without, to face the thought of a hideous duel
of which she could not speak. Her proud hard nature was more responsive
to thrills of hate than it had ever been to the caresses of love. Ah! if
the General could but have seen her, as she sat with her forehead
drawn into folds between her brows; immersed in bitter thoughts in that
boudoir where he had enjoyed such happy moments, he might perhaps
have conceived high hopes. Of all human passions, is not pride alone
incapable of engendering 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
fee