themselves out in one affection. Her liking for Martial was but of
yesterday, it is true, but the least experienced surgeon knows that
the pain caused by the amputation of a healthy limb is more acute than
the removal of a diseased one. There was a future before Madame de
Vaudremont's passion for Martial, while her previous love had been
hopeless, and poisoned by Soulanges' remorse.

The old Duchess, who was watching for an opportunity of speaking to
the Countess, hastened to dismiss her Ambassador; for in comparison
with a lover's quarrel every interest pales, even with an old woman.
To engage battle, Madame de Lansac shot at the younger lady a sardonic
glance which made the Countess fear lest her fate was in the dowager's
hands. There are looks between woman and woman which are like the
torches brought on at the climax of a tragedy. No one who had not
known that Duchess could appreciate the terror which the expression of
her countenance inspired in the Countess.

Madame de Lansac was tall, and her features led people to say, "That
must have been a handsome woman!" She coated her cheeks so thickly
with rouge that the wrinkles were scarcely visible; but her eyes, far
from gaining a factitious brilliancy from this strong carmine, looked
all the more dim. She wore a vast quantity of diamonds, and dressed
with sufficient taste not to make herself ridiculous. Her sharp nose
promised epigram. A well-fitted set of teeth preserved a smile of such
irony as recalled that of Voltaire. At the same time, the exquisite
politeness of her manners so effectually softened the mischievous
twist in her mind, that it was impossible to accuse her of
spitefulness.

The old woman's eyes lighted up, and a triumphant glance, seconded by