As the exertion of power is for the most part pleasing, so the exercise
of that which a woman possesses over a man is especially pleasant. When
in addition a risk of no ordinary kind has been run, and the happy issue
has been barely expected--above all when the momentary gain seems an
augury of final victory--it is impossible that a feeling akin to
exultation should not arise in the mind, however black the horizon, and
however distant the fair haven.
The situation in which Count Hannibal left Mademoiselle de Vrillac will
be remembered. She had prevailed over him; but in return he had bowed
her to the earth, partly by subtle threats, and partly by sheer savagery.
He had left her weeping, with the words "Madame de Tavannes" ringing doom
in her ears, and the dark phantom of his will pointing onward to an
inevitable future. Had she abandoned hope, it would have been natural.
But the girl was of a spirit not long nor easily cowed; and Tavannes had
not left her half an hour before the reflection, that so far the honours
of the day were hers, rose up to console her. In spite of his power and
her impotence, she had imposed her will upon his; she had established an
influence over him, she had discovered a scruple which stayed him, and a
limit beyond which he would not pass. In the result she might escape;
for the conditions which he had accepted with an ill grace might prove
beyond his fulfilling. She might escape! True, many in her place would
have feared a worse fate and harsher handling. But there lay half the
merit of her victory. It had left her not only in a better position, but
with a new confidence in her power over her adversary. He would insist
on the bargain struck between them; within its four corners she could
look for no indulgence. But if the conditions proved to be beyond his
power, she believed that he would spare her: with an ill grace, indeed,
with such ferocity and coarse reviling as her woman's pride might
scarcely support. But he would spare her.
And if the worst befell her? She would still have the consolation of
knowing that from the cataclysm which had overwhelmed her friends she had
ransomed those most dear to her. Owing to the position of her chamber,
she saw nothing of the excesses to which Paris gave itself up during the
remainder of that day, and to which it returned with unabated zest on the
following morning. But the Carlats and her women learned from the guards
below what was passing; and quaking and cowering in their corners fixed
frightened eyes on her, who was their stay and hope. How could she prove
false to them? How doom them to perish, had there been no question of
her lover?