She started not at the danger.

Proud of her mastery over herself, she rather triumphed in luring on into weakness this master-intelligence which had lighted up her own,--to see her slave in her teacher; to despise or to pity him whom she had first contemplated with awe.

And with this mere pride of the understanding might be connected that of the sex; she had attained the years when woman is curious to know and to sound her power.
To inflame Dalibard's cupidity or ambition was easy; but to touch his heart,--that marble heart!--this had its dignity and its charm.

Strange to say, she succeeded; the passion, as well as interests, of this dangerous and able man became enlisted in his hopes.

And now the game played between them had a terror in its suspense; for if Dalibard penetrated not into the recesses of his pupil's complicated nature, she was far from having yet sounded the hell that lay, black and devouring, beneath his own.