Meantime the notary was in a strange state of mind.  He had not yet made up his mind whether the whole thing was a joke arranged between de Jars and Jeannin or not, but of one thing he was quite convinced, the sympathy which Chevalier de Moranges was expressing by passionate sighs and glances was the merest hypocrisy.  Had he been alone, nothing would have prevented his dashing head foremost into this imbroglio, in scorn of consequence, convinced that his appearance would be as terrible in its effect as the head of Medusa.  But the presence of the widow restrained him.  Why ruin his future and dry up the golden spring which had just begun to gush before his eyes, for the sake of taking part in a melodrama?  Prudence and self-interest kept him in the side scenes.

The tears of the fair one and the glances of the chevalier awoke no repentance in the breast of the commander; on the contrary, he began to vent his anger in terms still more energetic.  He strode up and down the oaken floor till it shook under his spurred heels; he stuck his plumed hat on the side of his head, and displayed the manners of a bully in a Spanish comedy.  Suddenly he seemed to have come to a swift resolution:  the expression of his face changed from rage to icy coldness, and walking up to Angelique, he said, with a composure more terrible than the wildest fury—­

“My rival’s name?”

“You shall never learn it from me!”

“Madame, his name?”

“Never!  I have borne your insults too long.  I am not responsible to you for my actions.”

“Well, I shall learn it, in spite of you, and I know to whom to apply.  Do you think you can play fast and loose with me and my love?  No, no!  I used to believe in you; I turned, a deaf ear to your traducers.  My mad passion for you became known; I was the jest and the butt of the town.  But you have opened my eyes, and at last I see clearly on whom my vengeance ought to fall.  He was formerly my friend, and I would believe nothing against him; although I was often warned, I took no notice.  But now I will seek him out, and say to him, ’You have stolen what was mine; you are a scoundrel!  It must be your life, or mine!’ And if, there is justice in heaven, I shall kill him!  Well, madame, you don’t ask me the name of this man!  You well know whom I mean!”

This threat brought home to Mademoiselle de Guerchi how imminent was her danger.  At first she had thought the commander’s visit might be a snare laid to test her, but the coarseness of his expressions, the cynicism of his overtures in the presence of a third person, had convinced her she was wrong.  No man could have imagined that the revolting method of seduction employed could meet with success, and if the commander had desired to convict her of perfidy he would have come alone and made use of more persuasive weapons.  No, he believed he still had claims on her, but even if he had, by his manner of enforcing them he had rendered them void.  However, the moment he threatened to seek out a rival whose identity he designated quite clearly, and reveal to him the secret it was so necessary to her interests to keep hidden, the poor girl lost her head.  She looked at de Jars with a frightened expression, and said in a trembling voice—­