kindling fires of voluptuousness. And yet, the burning impulses of love
beat not in her frozen bosom; never could a surprise of either the heart or
the senses disturb the stern and pitiless schemes of this intriguing,
egotistical, and ambitious girl.

Fortunately for her, her plans were assisted by one Dr. Polidori, a learned
but hypocritical man, who hoped to be the future Richelieu over the puppet
he trusted to convert Prince Rudolph into. The lady and her brother
combined with Polidori against the youthful prince, whose only ally was his
true friend, an English baronet, Sir Walter Murphy.

The Countess M'Gregor drove things to the end, and, during a brief absence
of the grand-duke, was secretly married to Prince Rudolph. In time, about
to become a mother, the artful woman began to clamor for an acknowledgment
of the union. She braved exposure, hoping to force the prince into giving
her the station she sought. All was discovered, easily, therefore. But the
old duke was all-powerful within his realm: the clandestine union was
pronounced null and void, and the countess expelled. Her latest act of
vengeance was to inform Rudolph that their child had died. This was in
1827. But this assurance was on a par with her former falseness: the child,
a girl, was handed over to Jacques Ferrand, a miserly notary in Paris,
whose housekeeper got rid of it to a rogue known as Pierre Tournemine. When
he at last ran to the end of his tether, and was sentenced to imprisonment
in the Rochefort-hulks for forgery, he induced a woman called Gervais, but
nicknamed the Screech-Owl (Chouette), to take the girl, now five or six
years old, who brought the little creature up in the midst of as much
cruelty as degradation.

Meanwhile the countess nursed the idea of wedding Prince Rudolph in a more
secure manner. When, in time, he became grand-duke, she was more eager than