Chapter 28 - Page 2

almost be said her presence there had driven away the fairies who
were its occupants, she asked herself if the glance or gaze of those whom
she had displaced - whether spirits, fairies, elves, or human creatures –
had not already recognized her. To secure success, it was necessary that
some steps should be seriously taken, and it was necessary also that the
superintendent should comprehend the serious position in which he was
placed, in order to yield compliance with the generous fancies of a
woman; all the fascinations of an eloquent friendship would be required
to persuade him, and, should this be insufficient, the maddening
influence of a devoted passion, which, in its resolute determination to
carry conviction, would not be turned aside. Was not the superintendent,
indeed, known for his delicacy and dignity of feeling? Would he allow
himself to accept from any woman that of which she had stripped herself?
No! He would resist, and if any voice in the world could overcome his
resistance, it would be the voice of the woman he loved.

Another doubt, and that a cruel one, suggested itself to Madame de
Belliere with a sharp, acute pain, like a dagger thrust. Did he really
love her? Would that volatile mind, that inconstant heart, be likely to
be fixed for a moment, even were it to gaze upon an angel? Was it not
the same with Fouquet, notwithstanding his genius and his uprightness of
conduct, as with those conquerors on the field of battle who shed tears
when they have gained a victory? "I must learn if it be so, and must
judge of that for myself," said the marquise. "Who can tell whether that
heart, so coveted, is not common in its impulses, and full of alloy? Who
can tell if that mind, when the touchstone is applied to it, will not be
found of a mean and vulgar character? Come, come," she said, "this is
doubting and hesitation too much - to the proof," she said, looking at
the timepiece. "It is now seven o'clock," she said; "he must have
arrived; it is the hour for signing his papers." With a feverish
impatience she rose and walked towards the mirror, in which she smiled
with a resolute smile of devotedness; she touched the spring and drew out
the handle of the bell. Then, as if exhausted beforehand by the struggle
she had just undergone, she threw herself on her knees, in utter
abandonment, before a large couch, in which she buried her face in her
trembling hands. Ten minutes afterwards she heard the spring of the door
sound. The door moved upon invisible hinges, and Fouquet appeared. He
looked pale, and seemed bowed down by the weight of some bitter
reflection. He did not hurry, but simply came at the summons. The
preoccupation of his mind must indeed have been very great, that a man,
so devoted to