Chapter 28

Chapter XXVIII:
The Dowry.

Monsieur Faucheux's horses were serviceable animals, with thickset knees
and legs that had some difficulty in moving. Like the carriage, they
belonged to the earlier part of the century. They were not as fleet as
the English horses of M. Fouquet, and consequently it took two hours to
get to Saint-Mande. Their progress, it might be said, was majestic.
Majesty, however, precludes hurry. The marquise stopped the carriage at
the door so well known to her, although she had seen it only once, under
circumstances, it will now be remembered, no less painful than those
which brought her now to it again. She drew a key from her pocket, and
inserted it into the lock, pushed open the door, which noiselessly
yielded to her touch, and directed the clerk to carry the chest upstairs
to the first floor. The weight of the chest was so great that the clerk
was obliged to get the coachman to assist him with it. They placed it in
a small cabinet, ante-room, or boudoir rather, adjoining the saloon where
we once saw M. Fouquet at the marquise's feet. Madame de Belliere gave
the coachman a louis, smiled gracefully at the clerk, and dismissed them
both. She closed the door after them, and waited in the room, alone and
barricaded. There was no servant to be seen about the rooms, but
everything was prepared as though some invisible genius had divined the
wishes and desires of an expected guest. The fire was laid, candles in
the candelabra, refreshments upon the table, books scattered about, fresh-
cut flowers in the vases. One might almost have imagined it an enchanted
house.

The marquise lighted the candles, inhaled the perfume of the flowers, sat
down, and was soon plunged in profound thought. Her deep musings,
melancholy though they were, were not untinged with a certain vague joy.
Spread out before her was a treasure, a million wrung from her fortune as
a gleaner plucks the blue corn-flower from her crown of flowers. She
conjured up the sweetest dreams. Her principal thought, and one that
took precedence of all others, was to devise means of leaving this money
for M. Fouquet without his possibly learning from whom the gift had
come. This idea, naturally enough, was the first to present itself to
her mind. But although, on reflection, it appeared difficult to carry
out, she did not despair of success. She would then ring to summon M.
Fouquet and make her escape, happier than if, instead of having given a
million, she had herself found one. But, being there, and having seen
the boudoir so coquettishly decorated that it might almost be said the
least particle of dust had but the moment before been removed by the
servants; having observed the drawing-room, so perfectly arranged that it
might