"At your age," went on Angelique, "one cannot feign--the heart is not yet
hardened, and is capable of compassion. But a dreadful idea occurs to
me--a horrible suspicion! Is it all a devilish trick--a snare arranged
in joke? Tell me that it is not all a pretence! A poor woman encounters
so much perfidy. Men amuse themselves by troubling her heart and
confusing her mind; they excite her vanity, they compass her round with
homage, with flattery, with temptation, and when they grow tired of
fooling her, they despise and insult her. Tell me, was this all a
preconcerted plan? This love, this jealousy, were they only acted?"

"Oh, madame," broke in the chevalier, with an expression of the deepest
indignation, "how can you for an instant imagine that a human heart could
be so perverted? I am not acquainted with the man whom the commander
accused you of loving, but whoever he may be I feel sure that he is
worthy of your love, and that he would never have consented to such a
dastardly joke. Neither would my uncle; his jealousy mastered him and
drove him mad--

"But I am not dependent on him; I am my own master, and can do as I
please. I will hinder this duel; I will not allow the illusion and
ignorance of him who loves you and, alas that I must say it, whom you
love, to be dispelled, for it is in them he finds his happiness. Be
happy with him! As for me, I shall never see you again; but the
recollection of this meeting, the joy of having served you, will be my
consolation."

Angelique raised her beautiful eyes, and gave the chevalier a long look
which expressed her gratitude more eloquently than words.

"May I be hanged!" thought Maitre Quennebert, "if the baggage isn't