The marquis stepped back, glaring at his wife, and murmured, while his hand sought his sword hilt:
"To see you! that man came here to see you, madame!"
"Yes, monsieur, nor is that all; Miretta now has upon her a letter which I gave her to take to this same gentleman."
"Infamous!—What, madame, you dare to confess——"
"One does not fear to confess, when no criminal purpose exists; there is no infamy when a woman seeks to avenge her own honor; and really, monsieur le marquis, for a man who, I had been told, was so jealous, so sensitive in the matter of honor, you have been a long time finding out that someone was making love to your wife.—Miretta, give monsieur le marquis the note I handed you, and go."
Miretta made haste to obey the marchioness; she was secretly rejoiced to deliver to the husband the note addressed to the lover; she understood that her mistress was carrying out her scheme of vengeance at last; and she left the room, with a glance at Valentine expressive of her satisfaction.
The Marquis de Santoval took the note that the girl handed him; he was still inclined to disbelieve what he heard; he found it difficult to understand his wife's conduct. However, he opened the letter and read:
"This evening, about ten o'clock, be in the first arcade on Place Royale, as you enter from Rue des Tournelles. I will join you there."
"This is an assignation, madame," said the marquis, angrily crumpling the letter in his hand.
"Yes, monsieur; but pray do not crumple the paper so, unless you wish me to have the trouble of writing another."