Count Hannibal

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?