posed that she affected the
manners of a society in which she had not lived. When the Royalist and
the Republic were seated she looked sternly at the count. He, on his
part, knew women sufficiently well to feel certain that the offence he
had committed against this woman was equivalent to a sentence of death.
But in spite of this conviction, and without seeming either gay or
gloomy, he had the air of a man who did not take such serious results
into consideration; in fact, he really thought it ridiculous to fear
death in presence of a pretty woman. Marie's stern manner roused ideas
in his mind.

"Who knows," thought he, "whether a count's coronet wouldn't please her
as well as that of her lost marquis? Montauran is as lean as a nail,
while I--" and he looked himself over with an air of satisfaction. "At
any rate I should save my head."

These diplomatic revelations were wasted. The passion the count proposed
to feign for Mademoiselle de Verneuil became a violent caprice, which
the dangerous creature did her best to heighten.

"Monsieur le comte," she said, "you are my prisoner, and I have the
right to dispose of you. Your execution cannot take place without
my consent, and I have too much curiosity to let them shoot you at
present."

"And suppose I am obstinate enough to keep silence?" he replied gaily.

"With an honest woman, perhaps, but with a woman of the town, no, no,
monsieur le comte, impossible!" These words, full of bitter sarcasm,
were hissed, as Sully says, in speaking of the Duchesse de Beaufort,
from so sharp a beak that the count, amazed, merely looked at his
antagonist. "But," she continued, with a scornful glance, "not to
contradict you, if I am a creature of that kind I will act like one.
Here is your gun," and she offered him his weapon with a mocking air.

"On the honor of a gentleman, mademoiselle--"

"Ah!" she said, interrupting him, "I have had enough of the honor of
gentlemen. It was on the faith of that that I went to La Vivetiere. Your
leader had sworn to me that I and my escort should be safe there."

"What an infamy!" cried Hulot, contracting his brows.

"The fault lies with monsieur le comte," said Marie, addressing Hulot.
"I have no doubt the Gars meant to keep his word, but this gentleman
told some calumny about me which confirmed those that Charette's
mistress had already invented--"

"Mademoiselle," said the count, much troubled, "with my head under the
axe I would swear that I