one of those looks which plainly say, "We are talking of you."--Then
she added, "I imagine you would rather learn the stranger's name from
the lips of your handsome Countess than from mine."

There was such marked defiance in the Duchess' attitude that Madame de
Vaudremont rose, came up to her, and took the chair Martial placed for
her; then without noticing him she said, "I can guess, madame, that
you are talking of me; but I admit my want of perspicacity; I do not
know whether it is for good or evil."

Madame de Lansac pressed the young woman's pretty hand in her own dry
and wrinkled fingers, and answered in a low, compassionate tone, "Poor
child!"

The women looked at each other. Madame de Vaudremont understood that
Martial was in the way, and dismissed him, saying with an imperious
expression, "Leave us."

The Baron, ill-pleased at seeing the Countess under the spell of the
dangerous sibyl who had drawn her to her side gave one of those looks
which a man can give--potent over a blinded heart, but simply
ridiculous in the eyes of a woman who is beginning to criticise the
man who has attracted her.

"Do you think you can play the Emperor?" said Madame de Vaudremont,
turning three-quarters of her face to fix an ironical sidelong gaze on
the lawyer.

Martial was too much a man of the world, and had too much wit and
acumen, to risk breaking with a woman who was in favor at Court, and