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Updated: May 28, 2025
Lucienne were noticing the flight of time, so interested were they, one in telling, and the other in listening to, this story of a wonderful existence. However, Mlle. Lucienne's voice had become hoarse with fatigue. She poured herself a glass of water, which she emptied at a draught, and then at once, "Never yet," she resumed, "had I been agitated by such a sweet sensation.
"Is it possible," thought Maxence, "that I should be but one of the powers in the game she is playing? How do I know, that, if she wins, she will not cast me off?" In the midst of these thoughts, he had gradually fallen asleep, murmuring to the last the name of Lucienne. The creaking of his opening door woke him up suddenly. He started to his feet, and met Mlle. Lucienne coming in.
"I come," she called, and opened the door. Lucienne and Pennell came in, and the two men exchanged glances. Then Pennell looked away. Lucienne glanced at them and shrugged her shoulders. "Come, Graham," said Pennell; "let's get out! Good-bye, you two." The pair of them went down and out in silence. No one had seen them come, and there was no one to see them go.
After her exile to Pont aux Dames she returned to Lucienne, where the duc de Cosse Brissac consoled her for the death of Louis XV. But what she loved in Louis was that he was a king; her true country was Versailles; her true light was the sun of court life.
Almost immediately, the door opened, and Mlle. Lucienne came in. She must have dressed in haste; for she was just finishing hooking her dress, the simplicity of which seemed studied, so marvelously did it set off the elegance of her figure, the splendors of her waist, and the rare perfections of her shoulders and of her neck.
Amongst other marks of his favor, he bestowed upon me the splendid pavilion de Lucienne, sold by the duc de Penthievre after the death of his son, the prince de Lamballe. You know this charming spot, which both nature and art have so liberally contributed to adorn: I have converted it into the most perfect and delightful habitation in which a mortal could desire to end her days.
When M. de Tregars and the commissary walked in, the estimable hostess of the Hotel des Folies was kneeling in front of the fire, preparing some medicine. Hearing the footsteps, she got up, and, with a finger upon her lips, "Hush!" she said. "Take care not to wake her up!" The precaution was useless. "I am not asleep," said Mlle. Lucienne in a feeble voice. "Who is there?"
Restored once more to family and friends, he hastened to the capital. Madame d'Orleans no longer resided at the Tuileries, which was being enlarged by the King. Bragelonne, in his impatience, asks everywhere for La Valliere. They tell him that she has a charming house between Saint Germain, Lucienne, and Versailles. He goes thither, laden with coral and pearls from the Indies.
It was so easy for you to find an occasion for him to blow his brains out." "Was it so difficult for you to accept M. de Tregars' offers?" "It was you who made me refuse." "Was it me, too, who was so anxious to get rid of Lucienne?" For years, Mlle. Cesarine had not seemed so amused; and, in a half whisper, she was humming the famous tune, from "The Pearl of Poutoise," "Happy accord!
Lucienne manifested some reticence, and omitted to repeat the explanations of the peace-officer. And, after a few moments' pause, "You know the rest, neighbor," she said, "since you have seen me yourself in that inept and ridiculous role of living advertisement, of fashionable lay-figure; and the result has been just as I expected. Can you find any one who believes in my honesty of purpose?
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