nd she had believed him, that he was the
victim of two rogues; but yet his position was not the less terrible. He
accused! He led to prison! And, even if he took flight, his name would
be no less dishonoured by the suspicion that would light on him. At
these distressing thoughts, Madame de Lucenay trembled with affright.
She blindly loved this man, at the same time so degraded, and gifted
with such strong seductive powers; and her passion for him was one of
those affections which women, of her character and her temperament,
ordinarily experience when they attain an age of maturity.

Jacques Ferrand carefully watched every variation in the physiognomy of
Madame de Lucenay, who seemed to him more lovely and attractive at every
moment, and awakened still more his ardent feeling. Yet he felt a fierce
pleasure in tormenting, by his refusals, this female, who could only
entertain disgust and contempt for him. The lady had spurned the idea of
saying a word to the notary that might seem like a supplication; yet,
when she found the uselessness of other attempts, which she had
addressed to him who alone could save M. de Saint-Remy, she said, at
length, trying to repress all evidence of emotion:

"Since you have the sum of money which I ask of you, sir, and my
guarantee is sufficient, why do you refuse it to me?"

"Because men have their caprices, as well as ladies, madame."

"Well, what is this caprice which thus impels you to act against your
own interest? For I repeat, sir, that whatever may be your conditions, I
accept them."

"You will accept all my conditions, madame?" said the notary, with a
singular expression.

"All,--two, three, four thousand francs, more, if you please. For you
must know, sir," added the duchess, in a tone almost confidential, "I
have no resource but in you, sir, and in you only. It will be impossible
for me at this moment to find elsewhere what I require for to-morrow,
and I must have it, as you know,--I must absolutely have it. Thus I
repeat to you that, whatever terms you require for this service, I
accept them; nothing will be a sacrifice to me,--nothing."

The breath of the notary became thick, and, in his ignoble blindness, he
interpreted the last words of Madame de Lucenay in an unworthy manner.
He saw, through his darkened understanding, a woman as bold as some of
the females of the old court,--a woman driven to her wits' end for fear
of the dishonour of him whom she loved, and capable, p