When Bartoletti attended his visitor to the door, he felt it would be neither wise nor prudent to remain longer in Paris. Madame de Parabére did not act without reflection. She possessed in his own handwriting, with his own signature attached, the chemist’s analysis of the noxious essences that had been offered her in a nosegay; and although Bartoletti extorted the price of a necklace for it, she felt the document was cheap at the money. Instinct told her that in the Marquise de Montmirail she had found a rival; but reason assured her also that with such proofs as she now possessed she could ruin any rival in the Regent’s good graces as soon as he had slept off the effects of last night’s wine. Though his whole afternoon, as often happened, might be engaged, she must meet her royal admirer that evening at the opera. He should then be put in possession of the facts, and woe to the traitress when he knew the truth! “We shall see, madame!” said the lady, between her small white teeth, under the sweet, calm face, and crossing herself as she passed a crucifix in the street. “We shall see! A _lettre de cachet_ is a very compromising _billet-doux_, but it may be sent to a lady quite as appropriately as a gentleman. That reminds me! Business first—pleasure afterwards; gratitude to-day—vengeance to-night. I will preserve that brave Musketeer, if it costs me my rank and my reputation. Oh! if men were all prompt, generous, honourable, like him, how differently we poor women should behave; I wonder if we should be much better or much worse?” The maid walking at her side thought she was repeating an “Ave,” and appreciating the temptations of her mistress, greatly admired so edifying a display of piety under difficulties.