Madame de Vaudremont, in fact, felt as much sorrow
as she feigned cheerfulness; she had believed that she had found in
Martial a man of talent on whose support she could count for adorning
her life with all the enchantment of power; and at this moment she
perceived her mistake, as injurious to her reputation as to her good
opinion of herself. In her, as in other women of that time, the
suddenness of their passions increased their vehemence. Souls which
love much and love often, suffer no less than those which burn
themselves out in one affection. Her liking for Martial was but of
yesterday, it is true, but the least experienced surgeon knows that
the pain caused by the amputation of a healthy limb is more acute than
the removal of a diseased one. There was a future before Madame de
Vaudremont's passion for Martial, while her previous love had been
hopeless, and poisoned by Soulanges' remorse.
The old Duchess, who was watching for an opportunity of speaking to
the Countess, hastened to dismiss her Ambassador; for in comparison
with a lover's quarrel every interest pales, even with an old woman.
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