"She is not merely giddy, but frivolous; she is not only attracted by novelty, she is utterly oblivious, and is without faith; she is not simply susceptible to flattery, she is a practiced and cruel coquette.

A thorough coquette! yes, yes, I am sure of it.

Believe me, Bragelonne, I am suffering all the torments of hell; brave, passionately fond of danger, I meet a danger greater than my strength and my courage.

But, believe me, Raoul, I reserve for myself a victory which shall cost her floods of tears." "A victory," he asked, "and of what kind ?" "Of what kind, you ask ?" "Yes." "One day I will accost her, and will address her thus: 'I was young-- madly in love, I possessed, however, sufficient respect to throw myself at your feet, and to prostrate myself in the dust, if your looks had not raised me to your hand.

I fancied I understood your looks, I rose, and then, without having done anything more towards you than love you yet more devotedly, if that were possible--you, a woman without heart, faith, or love, in very wantonness, dashed me down again from sheer caprice.