“Other bipeds” answered the lady, bitterly, “lie from habit, with intention, or on occasion; but this variety never speaks the truth at all, even by accident.” The Duke’s face turned purple. Captain George, hoping to divert an explosion, and feeling that he had been invited rather as a compliment than for the sake of his society, rose and took his leave, on the score of military duty; receiving, as he went out, a glance from Madame de Parabére’s beautiful eyes, that assured him of her gratitude, her interest, and her good-will. His departure changed the subject of conversation. In two minutes the Regent forgot he had been offended, and Madame de Sabran was busied in the unworthy task of mystifying Count Point d’Appui, an employment which her rival contemplated with a drowsy, languid air, as if she could hardly keep herself awake. The Abbé had watched her for some time with increasing interest and considerable misgivings; the poison, he thought, should long ere this have taken effect, and he expected every moment to observe a disturbance of the placid features, a discolouration of the beautiful skin. Before supper was over, he concluded that, as far as the flowers were concerned, his plot had failed; but Malletort did not now need to learn the archer’s want of another arrow in the quiver, a spare string for the bow: it behoved him only to make the more use of such implements as he had kept in reserve. All his energy and all his cunning had been brought into play during the night. Without his assistance, he felt sure the mummery of the cavern must have failed, for he could trust neither the shaking nerves of the Italian nor the superstitious self-deception of the quadroon. It was no easy task to return to Paris so swiftly as to change his dress, show himself at a reception in the Faubourg St. Germain, and thence proceed leisurely to sup with the Regent. Well-bred horses, however, and a well-broke valet, had accomplished this part of the undertaking, with a few seconds to spare. It now remained to play the last and most difficult strokes of the game. He felt equal to the occasion. Moving round the table with his glass, in unceremonious fashion, he took advantage of George’s departure to place himself between Madame de Parabére and her host, whispering in that lady’s ear, “I have a favour to ask of the Regent, in which you, too, are interested!” She made room for him carelessly, listlessly, and her face looked so innocent and unsuspicious as to delude even his acuteness into the belief that the few faculties she could command were engrossed by Point d’Appui and his tormentor.