used her own evil imaginings and cast the blame of
them upon him. She seemed drawn down into a vortex from which there
was no escape. She gave herself up to its drift in a sort of passionate
abandonment. The death or the banishment of Caroline were the only
alternatives she could contemplate. "'The sweetest eyes that were ever
seen'--Bigot's foolish words!" thought she; "and the influence of those
eyes must be killed if Angelique des Meloises is ever to mount the lofty
chariot of her ambition."

"Other women," she thought bitterly, "would abandon greatness for love,
and in the arms of a faithful lover like Le Gardeur find a compensation
for the slights of the Intendant!"

But Angelique was not like other women: she was born to conquer men--not
to yield to them. The steps of a throne glittered in her wild fancy, and
she would not lose the game of her life because she had missed the first
throw. Bigot was false to her, but he was still worth the winning, for
all the reasons which made her first listen to him. She had no love for
him--not a spark! But his name, his rank, his wealth, his influence at
Court, and a future career of glory there--these things she had regarded
as her own by right of her beauty and skill in ruling men. "No rival
shall ever boast she has conquered Angelique des Meloises!" cried she,
clenching her hands. And thus it was in this crisis of her fate the
love of Le Gardeur was blown like a feather before the breath of her
passionate selfishness. The weights of gold pulled her down to the
nadir. Angelique's final resolution was irrevocably taken before her
eager, hopeful lover appeared in answer to her summons recalling him
from the festival of Belmont.

CHAPTER XXIII. SEALS OF LOVE, BUT SEALED IN VAIN.

She sat waiting Le Gardeur's arrival, and the thought of him began to
assert its influence as the antidote of the poisonous stuff she had
taken into her imagination. His presence so handsome, his manner so
kind, his love so undoubted, carried her into a region of intense
satisfaction. Angelique never thought so honestly well of herself as
when recounting the marks of affection bestowed upon her by Le Gardeur
de Repentigny. "His love is a treasure for any woman to possess, and he
has given it all to me!" said she to herself. "There are women who value
themselves wholly by the value placed upon them by others; but I value
others by the measure of myself. I love Le Gardeur; and what I love I do
n