"I care not for other skies
than these! My fate and fortune are here."
Her bosom heaved with mingled passions. The word of hope and the
word of denial struggled on her lips for mastery. Her blood
throbbed quicker than the beat of the golden pendule on the marble
table; but, like a bird, the good impulse again escaped her grasp.
"Look, Le Gardeur," said she. Her delicate finger pointed at
Perseus, who was ascending the eastern heavens: "there is my star.
Mere Malheur,--you know her,--she once said to me that that was my
natal star, which would rule my life."
Like all whose passions pilot them, Angelique believed in destiny.
Le Gardeur had sipped a few drops of the cup of astrology from the
venerable Professor Vallier. Angelique's finger pointed to the star
Algol--that strange, mutable star that changes from bright to dark
with the hours, and which some believe changes men's hearts to
stone.
"Mere Malheur lied!" exclaimed he, placing his arm round her, as if
to protect her from the baleful influence. "That cursed star never
presided over your birth, Angelique! That is the demon star Algol.
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