“And what object had you, in acting this part?”

“To prove to you, madame, that at my will I can cause you to be sad or joyful, cherished or neglected, adored or hated.  Madame, listen to me:  I love you.”

“You insult me, monsieur!” cried the marquise, trying to withdraw the bridle of her horse from the abbe’s hands.

“No fine words, my dear sister-in-law; for, with me, I warn you, they will be lost.  To tell a woman one loves her is never an insult; only there are a thousand different ways of obliging her to respond to that love.  The error is to make a mistake in the way that one employs—­that is the whole of the matter.”

“And may I inquire which you have chosen?” asked the marquise, with a crushing smile of contempt.

“The only one that could succeed with a calm, cold, strong woman like you, the conviction that your interest requires you to respond to my love.”

“Since you profess to know me so well,” answered the marquise, with another effort, as unsuccessful as the former, to free the bridle of her horse, “you should know how a woman like me would receive such an overture; say to yourself what I might say to you, and above all, what I might say to my husband.”

The abbe smiled.

“Oh, as to that,” he returned, “you can do as you please, madame.  Tell your husband whatever you choose; repeat our conversation word for word; add whatever your memory may furnish, true or false, that may be most convincing against me; then, when you have thoroughly given him his cue, when you think yourself sure of him, I will say two words to him, and turn him inside out like this glove.  That is what I had to say to you, madame I will not detain you longer.  You may have in me a devoted friend or a mortal enemy.  Reflect.”

At these words the abbe loosed his hold upon the bridle of the marquise’s horse and left her free to guide it as she would.  The marquise put her beast to a trot, so as to show neither fear nor haste.  The abbe followed her, and both rejoined the hunt.

The abbe had spoken truly.  The marquise, notwithstanding the threat which she had made, reflected upon the influence which this man had over her husband, and of which she had often had proof she kept silence, therefore, and hoped that he had made himself seem worse than he was, to frighten her.  On this point she was strangely mistaken.

The abbe, however, wished to see, in the first place, whether the marquise’s refusal was due to personal antipathy or to real virtue.  The chevalier, as has been said, was handsome; he had that usage of good society which does instead of mind, and he joined to it the obstinacy of a stupid man; the abbe undertook to persuade him that he was in love with the marquise.  It was not a difficult matter.  We have described the impression made upon the chevalier by the first sight of Madame de Ganges; but, owing beforehand the reputation of austerity that his sister-in-law had acquired, he had not the remotest idea of paying court to her.  Yielding, indeed, to the influence which she exercised upon all who came in contact with her, the chevalier had remained her devoted servant; and the marquise, having no reason to mistrust civilities which she took for signs of friendliness, and considering his position as her husband’s brother, treated him with less circumspection than was her custom.