"Oh, yes! yes! I am suffering acutely; I feel deeply humiliated! I cannot tell you all that I feel; I do not know myself what is taking place in my heart; but I would like to be able to avenge myself!--Miretta, that man who was to be my husband--at least, such was the wish of both our families--that Léodgard de Marvejols, is married--married to the girl Bathilde, the daughter of a bath keeper! he, the descendant of an illustrious family! Do you understand?--do you realize what a terrible affront he has put upon me?--To marry Mademoiselle Bathilde Landry, he disdained, he refused, the hand of Valentine de Mongarcin!--Ah! that thought drives me frantic--it suffocates me, it makes my nerves tingle! Give me water--water--quickly! It seems to me as if I were choking." Miretta waited upon her young mistress with the most zealous attention. Valentine soon became calmer, and even smiled at her maid, saying: "I feel better now--thanks, Miretta! In truth, I was very foolish to make myself ill over that man; that is not the way to be avenged! But to marry that Bathilde--who would ever have believed it of him?" "And the white plume you sent her, mademoiselle?" "I believe that instead of ruining the girl, it simply helped to make her a countess!--She! she! Comtesse de Marvejols! I cannot accustom myself to the idea. And yet, it would seem that he no longer loves her. Just imagine that on the very day of their marriage Léodgard left this Bathilde! She lives in the hôtel on Place Royale, and the count continues to occupy his house in Rue de Bretonvilliers; and since the day that he contracted that shameful marriage he has not been once to visit his wife!" "That proves, mademoiselle, that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard did not marry willingly; and that he must certainly have been forced into this marriage with the bath keeper Landry's daughter." "No, he might have refused; he is old enough to control his own actions. He had his choice between this marriage and a duel with this Bathilde's father, and he dastardly declined the duel!" "Oh! mademoiselle, it is inconceivable that it was from lack of courage. Everybody agrees in saying that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard is the bravest of the brave!" "Yes, yes, you are right; but, in that case, why did he consent? There is some mystery underneath all this--something which I would give all the world to discover!" And Valentine, resting her head on one of her hands, half reclining on a sofa, lay for several minutes deep in thought. Miretta, kneeling on a cushion by her mistress's side, was equally motionless, and, wholly engrossed by her thoughts, evidently had no idea what she was doing. Valentine emerged from her reverie at last, and said, passing her hand through Miretta's lovely black hair: