loft, she who, almost passed for a professional seductress, and whose
coquetries, at least so the Faithful ones of the Party said, had been
able to excite a passing and last spark of desire in the dull eyes of
the Emperor.

Like so many others, she and her husband had waited for his return from
Elba, had discounted a fresh, immediate chance, had kept up boldly and
spent the remains of his fortune at that game of luxury.

On the day when the illusion vanished, and he was forced to awake from
his dream, Monsieur de Maurillac, without considering that he was
leaving his wife and daughter behind him almost penniless, but not being
able to make up his mind to come down in the world, to vegetate, to
fight against his creditors, to accept the derisive alms of some
sinecure, poisoned himself, like a shop girl who is forsaken by her
lover.

Madame de Maurillac did not mourn for him, and as this lamentable
disaster had made her interesting, and as she was assisted and supported
by unexpected acts of kindness, and had a good adviser in one of those
old Parisian lawyers who would get anybody out of the most inextricable
difficulties, she managed to save something from the wreck, and to keep
a small income. Then reassured and emboldened, and resting her ultimate
illusions and her chimerical hopes on her daughter's radiant beauty, and
preparing for that last game in which they would risk everything, and
perhaps also hoping that she might herself marry again, the ancient
flirt arranged a double existence.

For months and months she disappeared from the world, and as a pretext
for her isolation and for hiding herself in the country, she alleged her