“And, after all,” she now reasoned to herself, “wherefore should I not follow my inclinations in this respect? I am free to act according to the impulse of my passions and the prompting of my desires. The night that I passed with Charles—that one night of love and bliss—has revived those ardent longings, those burning thoughts that demand gratification. Besides, Rosalie will be trustworthy so long as she is well paid; and I shall take care to keep her purse well filled. Sooner or later she must have obtained a complete insight into my character: why not, then, at once as well as hereafter? And the more firmly I bind her to my interests, the less shall I need the services of my crafty, selfish old mother. Would that I could manage my affairs and execute my plans without my parent’s aid altogether! And who knows but that even this consummation may be reached? Something tells me that the Marquis of Delmour and I shall yet be more intimately acquainted. He is old—but that is of little consequence. Wealth and a proud position are my aims—and I care not by what means they are acquired. Oh! the happiness of possessing such beauty as that wherewith I am endowed,—a beauty which can never fail to crown me with triumph in all my schemes!—in all my projects!”
She now regarded her watch, and discovered that it was eight o’clock.
“In another hour he will be here,” she thought within herself; and her bosom heaved voluptuously. “Yes—in another hour that handsome Italian will be in my presence—at least, if Rosalie fulfil her task with her wonted sagacity and prudence. What will he think of me? Oh! let him entertain any opinion that he may: I will bind him to secrecy by the most solemn oaths—and I read enough in his countenance to convince me that he is a man of honour!”
In this strain did the lovely but wanton creature pursue her reflections, until it was nearly nine o’clock.
She then rose from her seat, and repaired to the kitchen, which was on the same floor as her suite of apartments. The cook was not there; and Laura was consequently satisfied that Rosalie had not forgotten the precaution herself had suggested.
The syren now proceeded to the drawing-room, where with her own fair hands she arranged wine, fruits, and cakes upon the table. She then drew the curtains over the window, lighted the wax candles upon the mantel, and scattered drops of delicious perfume upon the carpet and the drapery.
Scarcely were these preparations completed, when the bell of the outer door of the suite rang as if pulled by a somewhat impatient hand; and Laura hastened to answer the summons.
She opened the door—and Captain Barthelma, the handsome Castelcicalan, appeared upon the threshold.
“Is it possible that this can be true!” he exclaimed, his joy amounting to a delirious excitement as his eyes fell upon the heroine of the afternoon’s adventure in the Champs Elysées.
Laura smiled archly as she placed her finger upon her lip to impose silence, at least until he should have entered her abode; and, having closed the door carefully, she conducted him into the drawing-room.