breath, and enjoyed the relief for a moment, she found herself
regretting the sensation of dread, so greedy of extreme sensations is
the feminine nature. The regret was not love, but it was certainly akin
to other feelings which prepare the way for love. And then--as if the
impression which Montriveau had made upon her were suddenly revived--she
recollected his air of conviction as he took out his watch, and in a
sudden spasm of dread she went out.

By this time it was about midnight. One of her servants, waiting with
her pelisse, went down to order her carriage. On her way home she fell
naturally enough to musing over M. de Montriveau's prediction. Arrived
in her own courtyard, as she supposed, she entered a vestibule almost
like that of her own hotel, and suddenly saw that the staircase was
different. She was in a strange house. Turning to call her servants, she
was attacked by several men, who rapidly flung a handkerchief over her
mouth, bound her hand and foot, and carried her off. She shrieked aloud.

"Madame, our orders are to kill you if you scream," a voice said in her
ear.

So great was the Duchess's terror, that she could never recollect how
nor by whom she was transported. When she came to herself, she was lying
on a couch in a bachelor's lodging, her hands and feet tied with silken
cords. In spite of herself, she shrieked aloud as she looked round and
met Armand de Montriveau's eyes. He was sitting in his dressing-gown,
quietly smoking a cigar in his armchair.

"Do not cry out, Mme la Duchesse," he said, coolly taking the cigar out
of his mouth; "I have a headache. Besides, I will untie you. But listen
attentively to what I have the honour to say to you."

Very carefully he untied the knots that bound her feet.

"What would be the use of calling out? Nobody can hear your cries.
You are too well bred to make any unnecessary fuss. If you do not stay
quietly, if you insist upon a struggle with me, I shall tie your
hands and feet again. All things considered, I think that you have
self-respect enough to stay on this sofa as if you were lying on your
own at home; cold as ever, if you will. You have made me shed many tears
on this couch, tears that I hid from all other eyes."

While Montriveau was speaking, the Duchess glanced about her; it was
a woman's glance, a stolen look that saw all things and seemed to see
nothing. She was much pleased with the room. It was rather like a
monk's cell. The man's charac