“And what if I wish to marry him, myself?—­Would you prevent it?”

“Yes, if I could!” he said firmly.  “It is time that to the freemasonry of women we should oppose the freemasonry of men.”

“You are cruelly cowardly enough when you are alone, what would you be then when you are together?” said Marianne, with a malignant expression.  “In fact,” said she, after a moment’s pause, “what would you have?  What?  Decide!—­Will you send my letters to the duke?”

“That is one way,” said Lissac, calmly.  “It is a woman’s way, that!”

“You have my letters still?”

“Preciously preserved.”

He had not contemplated such a threat, but she quickly scented a danger therein.

“Suppose I should ask the return of those letters, perhaps you would restore them to me?”

“Probably,” he said.

“Suppose I asked you to bring them to me, you know, in that little out of the way room of which I spoke to you one day?”

She had leaned gently toward Lissac and her elbows grazed the knees of her former lover.

“I would wear, that day, one of those otter-trimmed toques that you have not forgotten.”

She saw that he trembled, as if he were moved by some unsatisfied desire for her.  She felt reassured.

“Nonsense!” she said with a smiling face.  “You are not so bad as you pretend to be.”

The manager tapped the customary three blows behind the curtain, and the orchestra began the prelude to the third act.

“Adieu for a brief period, my enemy!” said Marianne, extending her hand.

He hesitated to take that hand.  At length, taking it in his own, he said: 

“Leave me Rosas!”

“Fie! jealous one!  Don’t I leave Vaudrey to you?”

She laughed, while Lissac went away dissatisfied.

“I will have my letters, at all risks,” thought Marianne when he had disappeared.  “It is more prudent.”

That night she slept badly, and the following morning rose in a very ill-humor.  Her face expressed fatigue, her eyes were encircled with dark rings and burned feverishly, but withal, her beauty was heightened.  All the morning she debated as to the course she should take, and finally decided to write to Guy, when Sulpice Vaudrey arrived, and beaming with delight, informed Marianne that he had the entire day to spend with her.

“I learned through Jouvenet this morning that you were able to go to the theatre.  Naughty one, to steal an evening from me.  But I have all to-day, at least.”

And he sat down in the salon like a man spreading himself out in his own house.  Marianne was meditating some scheme to get rid of him when the chamber-maid entered, presenting a note on a tray.

“What is that?”

“A messenger, madame, has brought this letter.”

Marianne read the paper hurriedly.

Vaudrey observed that she blushed slightly.