"I never saw the man
yet," said she, "whom I could not bring to my feet if I willed it!
The Chevalier Bigot would be no exception--that is, he would be no
exception"--the voice of Angelique fell into a low, hard monotone as
she finished the sentence--"were he free from the influence of that
mysterious woman at Beaumanoir, who, they say, claims the title of
wife by a token which even Bigot may not disregard! Her pleading
eyes may draw his compassion where they ought to excite his scorn.
But men are fools to woman's faults, and are often held by the very
thing women never forgive. While she crouches there like a lioness
in my path the chances are I shall never be chatelaine of
Beaumanoir--never, until she is gone!"
Angelique fell into a deep fit of musing, and murmured to herself,
"I shall never reach Bigot unless she be removed--but how to remove
her?"
Ay, that was the riddle of the Sphinx! Angelique's life, as she had
projected it, depended upon the answer to that question.
She trembled with a new feeling; a shiver ran through her veins as
if the cold breath of a spirit of evil had passed over her.
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