might
continue to enjoy the humiliating grief in which her rival was plunged,
and then said, suddenly,--"You do not accompany me to the door, then?"
The marquise rose, pale and almost lifeless, without thinking of
the envelope, which had occupied her attention so greatly at the
commencement of the conversation, and which was revealed at the first
step she took. She then opened the door of her oratory, and without even
turning her head towards Marguerite Vanel, entered it, closing the door
after her. Marguerite said, or rather muttered a few words, which Madame
de Belliere did not even hear. As soon, however, as the marquise had
disappeared, her envious enemy, not being able to resist the desire
to satisfy herself that her suspicions were well founded, advanced
stealthily like a panther, and seized the envelope. "Ah!" she said,
gnashing her teeth, "it was indeed a letter from M. Fouquet she was
reading when I arrived," and then darted out of the room. During this
interval, the marquise, having arrived behind the rampart, as it were,
of her door, felt that her strength was failing her; for a moment she
remained rigid, pale and motionless as a statue, and then, like a statue
shaken on its base by an earthquake, tottered and fell inanimate on
the carpet. The noise of the fall resounded at the same moment as the
rolling of Marguerite's carriage leaving the hotel.

Chapter XXVII. Madame de Belliere's Plate.

The blow had been the more painful on account of its being unexpected.
It was some time before the marquise recovered herself; but once
recovered, she began to reflect upon the events so heartlessly announced
to her. She therefore returned, at the risk even of losing her life in
the way, to that train of ideas which her relentless friend had
forced her to pursue. Treason, then--deep menaces, concealed under
the semblance of public interest--such were Colbert's maneuvers. A
detestable delight at an approaching downfall, untiring efforts to
attain this object, means of seduction no less wicked than the crime
itself--such were the weapons Marguerite employed. The crooked atoms
of Descartes triumphed; to the man without compassion was united a
woman without heart. The marquise perceived, with sorrow rather than
indignation, that the king was an accomplice in the plot which betrayed
the duplicity of Louis XIII. in his advanced age, and the avarice of
Mazarin at a period of life when he had not had the opportunity of
gorg