“My friend,” said Mother Bunch, gravely, “you speak in jest.  And yet, I know not why, the coming of this princess alarms me.”

“Dear, gentle soul, be satisfied!” answered Adrienne, affectionately.  “I do not fear this woman—­I no longer have any fear of her—­and to prove it to her confusion, I will treat her—­a monster of hypocrisy and wickedness, who comes here, no doubt, on some abominable design—­I will treat her as an inoffensive, ridiculous fat woman!” And Adrienne again laughed.

A servant here entered the room, and interrupted the mirth of Adrienne, by saying:  “The Princess de Saint-Dizier wishes to know if you can receive her?”

“Certainly,” said Mdlle. de Cardoville; and the servant retired.  Mother Bunch was about to rise and quit the room; but Adrienne held her back, and said to her, taking her hand with an air of serious tenderness:  “Stay, my dear friend, I entreat you.”

“Do you wish it?”

“Yes; I wish—­still in revenge, you know,” said Adrienne, with a smile, “to prove to her highness of Saint-Dizier, that I have an affectionate friend—­that I have, in fact, every happiness.”

“But, Adrienne,” replied the other, timidly, “consider—­”

“Silence! here is the princess.  Remain!  I ask it as a favor.  The instinct of your heart will discover any snare she may have laid.  Did not your affection warn me of the plots of Rodin?”

Mother Bunch could not refuse such a request.  She remained, but was about to draw back from the fireplace.  Adrienne, however, took her by the hand, and made her resume her seat in the arm-chair, saying:  “My dear Magdalen, keep your place.  You owe nothing to the lady.  With me it is different; she comes to my house.”

Hardly had Adrienne uttered these words, than the princess entered with head erect, and haughty air (we have said, she could carry herself most loftily), and advanced with a firm step.  The strongest minds have their side of puerile weakness; a savage envy, excited by the elegance, wit, and beauty of Adrienne, bore a large part in the hatred of the princess for her niece; and though it was idle to think of eclipsing Adrienne, and the Princess de Saint-Dizier did not seriously mean to attempt it, she could not forbear, in preparing for the interview she had demanded, taking more pains even than usual in the arrangement of her dress.  Beneath her robe of shot silk, she was laced in and tightened to excess—­a pressure which considerably increased the color in her cheeks.  The throng of jealous and hateful sentiments, which inspired her with regard to Adrienne, had so troubled the clearness of her ordinarily calm judgment, that, instead of the plain and quiet style, in which, as a woman of tact and taste, she was generally attired, she now committed the folly of wearing a dress of changing hues, and a crimson hat, adorned with a magnificent bird of paradise.  Hate, envy, the pride of triumph—­for she thought of the skillful perfidy with which she had sent to almost certain death the daughters of Marshal Simon—­and the execrable hope of succeeding in new plots, were all expressed in the countenance of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, as she entered her niece’s apartment.