"In God's name hear her!" cried the duchess, exasperated by such sublime confidence. "Would not one think that her love is unique, and that no other love can be compared to it?" "I do not say that, madame. For the reason that I love, I know that other hearts may love as I do, but I doubt if yours is one of them." "What would you do for him? Come, let us see, you who boast of this love of yours which mine can never equal. What have you sacrificed for him thus far? an obscure life and wearisome solitude?" "No, madame, but my peace of mind." "You have given him preference over what? Comte d'Orbec's absurd love?" "No, madame, but my filial obedience." "What have you to give him? Can you make him rich, powerful, feared?" "No, madame, but I hope to make him happy." "Ah!" exclaimed the duchess; "it's a very different matter with me, and I do much more for him: I sacrifice a king's affection; I lay wealth, titles, and honors at his feet; I bring him a kingdom to govern." "Yes," said Colombe with a smile, "it's true that your love gives him everything that is not love." "Enough, enough of this insulting comparison!" cried the duchess violently, feeling that she was losing ground step by step. Thereupon ensued a momentary pause, during which Colombe seemed to feel no embarrassment, while Madame d'Etampes succeeded in concealing hers only by revealing her anger. However, her features gradually relaxed, her faee assumed a milder expression, lightened by a gleam of real or feigned benevolence. She was the first to reopen the conflict which she did not propose should end otherwise than in a triumph. "Let us see, Colombe," said she in a tone that was almost affectionate, "if some one should bid you sacrifice your life for him, what would you do?" "Ah! I would give it to him blissfully!" "And so would I!" cried the duchess with an accent which proved the violence of her passion, if not the sincerity of the sacrifice. "But your honor," she continued, "would you sacrifice that as well as your life?" "If by my honor you mean my reputation, yes; if by my honor you mean my virtue, no." "What! you do not belong to him? is he not your lover?" "He is my _fiancé_, madame; that is all." "Oh, she doesn't love him!" rejoined the duchess, "she doesn't love him! She prefers her honor, a mere empty word, to him." "If some one were to say to you, madame," retorted Colombe, angered in spite of her sweet disposition, "if some one were to say to you, 'Renounce for his sake your titles and your grandeur; abandon the king for him,--not in secret, that would be too easy,--but publicly.' If some one were to say to you, 'Anne d'Heilly, Duchesse d'Etampes, leave your palace, your luxurious surroundings, and your courtiers for his humble artist's studio'?" "I would refuse in his own interest," replied the duchess, as if it were impossible to say what was false beneath the profound, penetrating gaze of her rival. "You would refuse?" "Yes."