Some new flame,perhaps.The anxiety of the lady was all the more keen,that until now nothing had passed between them but looks of languor and words of love.The duke had laid himself and all he possessed at the feet of Angelique,and Angelique had refused his offer.A too prompt surrender would have justified the reports so wickedly spread against her;and,made wise by experience,she was resolved not to compromise her future as she had compromised her past.But while playing at virtue she had also to play at disinterestedness,and her pecuniary resources were consequently almost exhausted.She had proportioned the length of her resistance to the length of her purse,and now the prolonged absence of her lover threatened to disturb the equilibrium which she had established between her virtue and her money.So it happened that the cause of the lovelorn Duc de Vitry was in great peril just at the moment when de Jars and Jeannin resolved to approach the fair one anew.She was sitting lost in thought,pondering in all good faith on the small profit it was to a woman to be virtuous,when she heard voices in the antechamber.Then her door opened,and the king's treasurer walked in.
As this interview and those which follow took place in the presence of witnesses,we are obliged to ask the reader to accompany us for a time to another part of the same house.
We have said there were several tenants:now the person who occupied the rooms next to those in which Mademoiselle de Guerchi lived was a shopkeeper's widow called Rapally,who was owner of one of the thirty-two houses which then occupied the bridge Saint-Michel.They had all been constructed at the owner's cost,in return for a lease for ever.The widow Rapally's avowed age was forty,but those who knew her longest added another ten years to that:so,to avoid error,let us say she was forty-five.She was a solid little body,rather stouter than was necessary for beauty;her hair was black,her complexion brown,her eyes prominent and always moving;lively,active,and if one once yielded to her whims,exacting beyond measure;but until then buxom and soft,and inclined to pet and spoil whoever,for the moment,had arrested her volatile fancy.Just as we make her acquaintance this happy individual was a certain Maitre Quennebert,a notary of Saint Denis,and the comedy played between him and the widow was an exact counterpart of the one going on in the rooms of Mademoiselle de Guerchi,except that the roles were inverted;for while the lady was as much in love as the Duc de Vitry,the answering devotion professed by the notary was as insincere as the disinterested attachment to her lover displayed by the whilom maid of honour.
Maitre Quennebert was still young and of attractive appearance,but his business affairs were in a bad way.For long he had been pretending not to understand the marked advances of the widow,and he treated her with a reserve and respect she would fain have dispensed with,and which sometimes made her doubt of his love.But it was impossible for her as a woman to complain,so she was forced to accept with resignation the persistent and unwelcome consideration with which he surrounded her.Maitre Quennebert was a man of common sense and much experience,and had formed a scheme which he was prevented from carrying out by an obstacle which he had no power to remove.He wanted,therefore,to gain time,for he knew that the day he gave the susceptible widow a legal right over him he would lose his independence.A lover to whose prayers the adored one remains deaf too long is apt to draw back in discouragement,but a woman whose part is restricted to awaiting those prayers,and answering with a yes or no,necessarily learns patience.Maitre Quennebert would therefore have felt no anxiety as to the effect of his dilatoriness on the widow,were it not for the existence of a distant cousin of the late Monsieur Rapally,who was also paying court to her,and that with a warmth much greater than had hitherto been displayed by himself.This fact,in view of the state of the notary's affairs,forced him at last to display more energy.To make up lost ground and to outdistance his rival once more,he now began to dazzle the widow with fine phrases and delight her with compliments;but to tell the truth all this trouble was superfluous;he was beloved,and with one fond look he might have won pardon for far greater neglect.
An hour before the treasurer's arrival there had been a knock at the door of the old house,and Maitre Quennebert,curled,pomaded,and prepared for conquest,had presented himself at the widow's.She received him with a more languishing air than usual,and shot such arrows at him froth her eyes that to escape a fatal wound he pretended to give way by degrees to deep sadness.The widow,becoming alarmed,asked with tenderness--"What ails you this evening?"
He rose,feeling he had nothing to fear from his rival,and,being master of the field,might henceforth advance or recede as seemed best for his interests.
"What ails me?"he repeated,with a deep sigh."I might deceive you,might give you a misleading answer,but to you I cannot lie.I am in great trouble,and how to get out of it I don't know.""But tell me what it is,"said the widow,standing up in her turn.
Maitre Quennebert took three long strides,which brought him to the far end of the room,and asked--"Why do you want to know?You can't help me.My trouble is of a kind a man does not generally confide to women.""What is it?An affair of honour?
"Yes."
