“But,” said d’Arthez, with sarcastic airiness, “Madame la Princesse de Cadignan has one advantage over men:  when they have put themselves in danger for her sake, she saves them, and says no harm of any one.  Among the multitude, why shouldn’t there be one woman who amuses herself with men as men amuse themselves with women?  Why not allow the fair sex to take, from time to time, its revenge?”

“Genius is stronger than wit,” said Blondet to Nathan.

This broadside of sarcasms was in fact the discharge of a battery of cannons against a platoon of musketry.  When coffee was served, Blondet and Nathan went up to d’Arthez with an eagerness no one else dared to imitate, so unable were the rest of the company to show the admiration his conduct inspired from the fear of making two powerful enemies.

“This is not the first time we have seen that your character equals your talent in grandeur,” said Blondet.  “You behaved just now more like a demi-god than a man.  Not to have been carried away by your heart or your imagination, not to have taken up the defence of a beloved woman—­a fault they were enticing you to commit, because it would have given those men of society eaten up with jealousy of your literary fame a triumph over you—­ah! give me leave to say you have attained the height of private statesmanship.”

“Yes, you are a statesman,” said Nathan.  “It is as clever as it is difficult to avenge a woman without defending her.”

“The princess is one of those heroines of the legitimist party, and it is the duty of all men of honor to protect her quand meme,” replied d’Arthez, coldly.  “What she has done for the cause of her masters would excuse all follies.”

“He keeps his own counsel!” said Nathan to Blondet.

“Precisely as if the princess were worth it,” said Rastignac, joining the other two.

D’Arthez went to the princess, who was awaiting him with the keenest anxiety.  The result of this experiment, which Diane had herself brought about, might be fatal to her.  For the first time in her life this woman suffered in her heart.  She knew not what she should do in case d’Arthez believed the world which spoke the truth, instead of believing her who lied; for never had so noble a nature, so complete a man, a soul so pure, a conscience so ingenuous come beneath her hand.  Though she had told him cruel lies she was driven to do so by the desire of knowing a true love.  That love—­she felt it dawning in her heart; yes, she loved d’Arthez; and now she was condemned forever to deceive him!  She must henceforth remain to him the actress who had played that comedy to blind his eyes.

When she heard Daniel’s step in the dining-room a violent commotion, a shudder which reached to her very vitals came over her.  That convulsion, never felt during all the years of her adventurous existence, told her that she had staked her happiness on this issue.  Her eyes, gazing into space, took in the whole of d’Arthez’s person; their light poured through his flesh, she read his soul; suspicion had not so much as touched him with its bat’s-wing.  The terrible emotion of that fear then came to its reaction; joy almost stifled her; for there is no human being who is not more able to endure grief than to bear extreme felicity.