masterpiece still waiting to come to birth. Many a time, seeing
d'Arthez on the point of advancing, she enjoyed stopping him short,
with an imposing air and manner. She drove back the hidden storms of
that still young heart, raised them again, and stilled them with a
look, holding out her hand to be kissed, or saying some trifling
insignificant words in a tender voice.

These manoeuvres, planned in cold blood, but enchantingly executed,
carved her image deeper and deeper on the soul of that great writer
and thinker whom she revelled in making childlike, confiding, simple,
and almost silly beside her. And yet she had moments of repulsion
against her own act, moments in which she could not help admiring the
grandeur of such simplicity. This game of choicest coquetry attached
her, insensibly, to her slave. At last, however, Diane grew impatient
with an Epictetus of love; and when she thought she had trained him to
the utmost credulity, she set to work to tie a thicker bandage still
over his eyes.



CHAPTER IV

THE CONFESSION OF A PRETTY WOMAN

One evening Daniel found the princess thoughtful, one elbow resting on
a little table, her beautiful blond head bathed in light from the
lamp. She was toying with a letter which lay on the table-cloth. When
d'Arthez had seen the paper distinctly, she folded it up, and stuck it
in her belt.