passion. It represents you, on the contrary, as a virtuous
but loving woman, defending yourself with claws and teeth,
shutting yourself up in your own house as in a fortress; in
other respects, as impenetrable as that of Danae,
notwithstanding Danae’s tower was made of brass.”
“You are witty, Marguerite,” said Madame de Belliere,
angrily.
“You always flatter me, Elise. In short, however you are
reported to be incorruptible and unapproachable. You cannot
decide whether the world is calumniating you or not; but
what is it you are musing about while I am speaking to you?”
“I?”
“Yes; you are blushing and do not answer me.”
“I was trying,” said the marquise, raising her beautiful
eyes brightened with an indication of growing temper, “I was
trying to discover to what you could possibly have alluded,
you who are so learned in mythological subjects in comparing
me to Danae.”
“You were trying to guess that?” said Marguerite, laughing.
“Yes; do you not remember that at the convent, when we were
solving our problems in arithmetic — ah! what I have to
tell you is learned also, but it is my turn — do you not
remember, that if one of the terms were given, we were to
find out the other? Therefore do you guess now?”
“I cannot conjecture what you mean.”
“And yet nothing is more simple. You pretend that I am in
love, do you not?”
“So it is said.”
“Very well, it is not said, I suppose, that I am in love
with an abstraction. There must surely be a name mentioned
in this report.”
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“Certainly, a name is mentioned.”
“Very well; it is not surprising, then, that I should try to
guess this name, since you do not tell it.”
“My dear marquise, when I saw you blush, I did not think you
would have to spend much time in conjectures.”
“It was the word Danae which you used that surprised me.
Danae means a shower of gold, does it not?”
“That is to say that the Jupiter of Danae changed himself
into a shower of gold for her.”
“My lover, then, he whom you assign me —- ”
“I beg your pardon; I am your friend, and assign you no
one.”
“That may be; but those who are ill disposed towards me.”
“Do you wish to hear the name?”
“I have been waiting this half hour for it.”
“Well, then, you shall hear it. Do not be shocked; he is a
man high in power.”
“Good,” said the marquise, as she clenched her hands like a
patient at the approach of the knife.
“He is a very wealthy man,” continued Marguerite; “the
wealthiest, it may be. In a word, it is —- ”
The marquise closed her eyes for a moment.
“It is the Duke of Buckingham,” said Marguerite, bursting
into laughter. This perfidy had been calculated with extreme
ability; the name that was pronounced, instead of the name
which the marquise awaited, had precisely the same effect
upon her as the badly sharpened axes that had hacked,
without destroying, Messieurs de Chalais and De Thou upon
the scaffold. She recovered herself, however, and said, “I
was perfectly right in saying you were a witty woman, for
you are making the time pass away most agreeably. This joke
is a most amusing one, for I have never seen the Duke of
Buckingham.”
“Never?” said Marguerite, restraining her laughter.
“I have never even left my own house since the duke has been
at Paris.”
“Oh!” resumed Madame Vanel, stretching out her foot towards
a paper which was lying on the carpet near the window; “it
is not necessary for people to see each other, since they
can write.” The marquise trembled, for this paper was the
envelope of the letter she was reading as her friend had
entered, and was sealed with the superintendent’s arms. As
she leaned back on the sofa on which she was sitting, Madame
de Belliere covered the paper with the thick folds of her
large silk dress, and so concealed it.
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“Come, Marguerite, tell me, is it to tell me all these