"
The letter fell from Marie's hands; she closed her eyes, and was
silent, leaning backward, with her head on a cushion. After a long
pause she looked at the clock, which then marked four in the
afternoon.
"My lord keeps me waiting," she said, with savage irony.
"Oh! God grant he may not come!" cried Francine.
"If he does not come," said Marie, in a stifled tone, "I shall go to
him. No, no, he will soon be here. Francine, do I look well?"
"You are very pale."
"Ah!" continued Mademoiselle de Verneuil, glancing about her, "this
perfumed room, the flowers, the lights, this intoxicating air, it is
full of that celestial life of which I dreamed--"
"Marie, what has happened?"
"I am betrayed, deceived, insulted, fooled! I will kill him, I will
tear him bit by bit! Yes, there was always in his manner a contempt he
could not hide and which I would not see. Oh! I shall die of this!
Fool that I am," she went on laughing, "he is coming; I have one night
in which to teach him that, married or not, the man who has possessed
me cannot abandon me. I will measure my vengeance by his offence; he
shall die with despair in his soul. I did believe he had a soul of
honor, but no! it is that of a lackey. Ah, he has cleverly deceived
me, for even now it seems impossible that the man who abandoned me to
Pille-Miche should sink to such back-stair tricks.
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