From the tenor of these remarks it was to be inferred that the princess had the depth of a precipice, the grace of a queen, the corruption of diplomatists, the mystery of a first initiation, and the dangerous qualities of a siren.  The two clever men of the world, incapable of foreseeing the denouement of their joke, succeeded in presenting Diane d’Uxelles as a consummate specimen of the Parisian woman, the cleverest of coquettes, the most enchanting mistress in the world.  Right or wrong, the woman whom they thus treated so lightly was sacred to d’Arthez; his desire to meet her needed no spur; he consented to do so at the first word, which was all the two friends wanted of him.

Madame d’Espard went to see the princess as soon as she had received this answer.

“My dear, do you feel yourself in full beauty and coquetry?” she said.  “If so, come and dine with me a few days hence, and I’ll serve up d’Arthez.  Our man of genius is by nature, it seems, a savage; he fears women, and has never loved!  Make your plans on that.  He is all intellect, and so simple that he’ll mislead you into feeling no distrust.  But his penetration, which is wholly retrospective, acts later, and frustrates calculation.  You may hoodwink him to-day, but to-morrow nothing can dupe him.”

“Ah!” cried the princess, “if I were only thirty years old what amusement I might have with him!  The one enjoyment I have lacked up to the present is a man of intellect to fool.  I have had only partners, never adversaries.  Love was a mere game instead of being a battle.”

“Dear princess, admit that I am very generous; for, after all, you know!—­charity begins at home.”

The two women looked at each other, laughing, and clasped hands in a friendly way.  Assuredly they both knew each other’s secrets, and this was not the first man nor the first service that one had given to the other; for sincere and lasting friendships between women of the world need to be cemented by a few little crimes.  When two friends are liable to kill each other reciprocally, and see a poisoned dagger in each other’s hand, they present a touching spectacle of harmony, which is never troubled, unless, by chance, one of them is careless enough to drop her weapon.

So, eight days later, a little dinner such as are given to intimates by verbal invitation only, during which the doors are closed to all other visitors, took place at Madame d’Espard’s house.  Five persons were invited,—­Emile Blondet and Madame de Montcornet, Daniel d’Arthez, Rastignac, and the Princesse de Cadignan.  Counting the mistress of the house, there were as many men as women.

Chance never exerted itself to make wiser preparations than those which opened the way to a meeting between d’Arthez and Madame de Cadignan.  The princess is still considered one of the chief authorities on dress, which, to women, is the first of arts.  On this occasion she wore a gown of blue velvet with flowing white sleeves, and a tulle guimpe, slightly frilled and edged with blue, covering the shoulders, and rising nearly to the throat, as we see in several of Raffaele’s portraits.  Her maid had dressed her hair with white heather, adroitly placed among its blond cascades, which were one of the great beauties to which she owed her celebrity.