A Rogue's Tragedy by Bernard Capes — Read

If the Chevalier de France was destined a second time to suffer humiliation through his daughter's perversity, that daughter herself was spared the social ostracism which would surely have overtaken one less admired in the shadow of the King's displeasure. The out-of-favour minister, despoiled of his official nimbus, had to borrow what satisfaction he could from the collateral distinction conferred upon him through his relationship with so exquisite and _precious_ a creature. That was a very bitter mortification to so arrogant a man; though, to be sure, his exaltation in the first instance had hardly owed itself to his personal merits -- a fact which he had no excuse but an impenetrable vanity for overlooking. For the bestowal of the portfolio, it had been plainly intimated to him, was conditional on his leaving his majesty a perfectly free hand to dispose of that of the Marchesa; nor had he been ignorant, even at the first, of the name and reputation of the royal nominee.

But his pride was the haughtiest of casuists in all matters touching itself. The end it sought -- that is to say the re-investiture of de France, the ancient house, in its former power and possessions -- must be held not only to justify, but to glorify, the meanest means to it. Any step, if in that direction, was a step sanctified of its purpose to him, though to take it, he must tread on the mouth of human nature. "Evil, be thou my good!" might have stood for his motto.