Angelique sat with her hands on her temples, staring upon the fire
that flared and flickered in the deep fireplace. She had seen a
wild, wicked vision there once before. It came again, as things
evil never fail to come again at our bidding. Good may delay, but
evil never waits. The red fire turned itself into shapes of lurid
dens and caverns, changing from horror to horror until her creative
fancy formed them into the secret chamber of Beaumanoir with its one
fair, solitary inmate, her rival for the hand of the Intendant,--her
fortunate rival, if she might believe the letter brought to her so
strangely. Angelique looked fiercely at the fragments of it lying
upon the carpet, and wished she had not destroyed it; but every word
of it was stamped upon her memory, as if branded with a hot iron.
"I see it all, now!" exclaimed she--"Bigot's falseness, and her
shameless effrontery in seeking him in his very house. But it shall
not be!" Angelique's voice was like the cry of a wounded panther
tearing at the arrow which has pierced his flank.
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