“‘What efforts to drink of the Tantalus cup of bliss I could read in these traces of love stricken by the thunderbolt remorse--in this visible presentment of a life of luxury, extravagance, and riot. There were faint red marks on her young face, signs of the fineness of the skin; but her features were coarsened, as it were, and the circles about her eyes were unwontedly dark. Nature nevertheless was so vigorous in her, that these traces of past folly did not spoil her beauty. Her eyes glittered. She looked like some _Herodias_ of da Vinci’s (I have dealt in pictures), so magnificently full of life and energy was she; there was nothing starved nor stinted in feature or outline; she awakened desire; it seemed to me that there was some passion in her yet stronger than love. I was taken with her. It was a long while since my heart had throbbed; so I was paid then and there--for I would give a thousand francs for a sensation that should bring me back memories of youth. “‘“Monsieur,” she said, finding a chair for me, “will you be so good as to wait?” “‘“Until this time to-morrow, madame,” I said, folding up the bill again. “I cannot legally protest this bill any sooner.” And within myself I said--“Pay the price of your luxury, pay for your name, pay for your ease, pay for the monopoly which you enjoy! The rich have invented judges and courts of law to secure their goods, and the guillotine--that candle in which so many lie in silk, under silken coverlets, there is remorse, and grinding of teeth beneath a smile, and those fantastical lions’ jaws are gaping to set their fangs in your heart.” “‘“Protest the bill! Can you mean it?” she cried, with her eyes upon me; “could you have so little consideration for me?” “‘“If the King himself owed money to me, madame, and did not pay it, I should summons him even sooner than any other debtor.” “‘While we were speaking, somebody tapped gently at the door. “‘“I cannot see any one,” she cried imperiously. “‘“But, Anastasie, I particularly wish to speak to you.” “‘“Not just now, dear,” she answered in a milder tone, but with no sign of relenting. “‘“What nonsense! You are talking to some one,” said the voice, and in came a man who could only be the Count. “‘The Countess gave me a glance. I saw how it was. She was thoroughly in my power. There was a time, when I was young, and might perhaps have been stupid enough not to protest the bill. At Pondicherry, in 1763, I let a woman off, and nicely she paid me out afterwards. I deserved it; what call was there for me to trust her? “‘“What does this gentleman want?” asked the Count. “‘I could see that the Countess was trembling from head to foot; the white satin skin of her throat was rough, “turned to goose flesh,” to use the familiar expression. As for me, I laughed in myself without moving a muscle. “‘“This gentleman is one of my tradesmen,” she said.