gay or jesting they may be, the proofs of unremitting thought. The
count, delighted with the attentions paid to him, seemed almost young;

his wife looked hopeful of a change; I amused myself with Madeleine,
who, like all children with bodies weaker than their minds, made

others laugh with her clever observations, full of sarcasm, though
never malicious, and which spared no one. It was a happy day. A word,

a hope awakened in the morning illumined nature. Seeing me so joyous,
Henriette was joyful too.

"This happiness smiling on my gray and cloudy life seems good," she
said to me the next day.

That day I naturally spent at Clochegourde. I had been banished for
five days, I was athirst for life. The count left at six in the

morning for Tours. A serious disagreement had arisen between mother
and daughter. The duchess wanted the countess to move to Paris, where

she promised her a place at court, and where the count, reconsidering
his refusal, might obtain some high position. Henriette, who was

thought happy in her married life, would not reveal, even to her
mother, her tragicsufferings and the fatal incapacity of her husband.

It was to hide his condition from the duchess that she persuaded him
to go to Tours and transact business with his notaries. I alone, as

she had truly said, knew the dark secret of Clochegourde. Having
learned by experience how the pure air and the blue sky of the lovely

valley calmed the excitements and soothed the morbid griefs of the
diseased mind, and what beneficial effect the life at Clochegourde had

upon the health of her children, she opposed her mother's desire that
she should leave it with reasons which the overbearing woman, who was

less grieved than mortified by her daughter's bad marriage, vigorously
combated.

Henriette saw that the duchess cared little for Jacques and Madeleine,
--a terrible discovery! Like all domineering mothers who expect to

continue the same authority over their married daughters that they
maintained when they were girls, the duchess brooked no opposition;

sometimes she affected a craftysweetness to force her daughter to
compliance, at other times a cold severity, intending to obtain by

fear what gentleness had failed to win; then, when all means failed,
she displayed the same native sarcasm which I had often observed in my

own mother. In those ten days Henriette passed through all the
contentions a young woman must endure to establish her independence.

You, who for your happiness have the best of mothers, can scarcely
comprehend such trials. To gain a true idea of the struggle between

that cold, calculating, ambitious woman and a daughter abounding in
the tender natural kindness that never faileth, you must imagine a

lily, to which my heart has always compared her, bruised beneath the
polished wheels of a steel car. That mother had nothing in common with

her daughter; she was unable even to imagine the real difficulties
which hindered her from takingadvantage of the Restoration and forced

her to continue a life of solitude. Though families bury their
internal dissensions with the utmost care, enter behind the scenes,

and you will find in nearly all of them deep, incurable wounds, which
lessen the natural affections. Sometimes these wounds are given by

passions real and most affecting, rendered eternal by the dignity of
those who feel them; sometimes by latent hatreds which slowly freeze

the heart and dry all tears when the hour of parting comes. Tortured
yesterday and to-day, wounded by all, even by the suffering children

who were guiltless of the ills they endured, how could that poor soul
fail to love the one human being who did not strike her, who would

fain have built a wall of defence around her to guard her from storms,
from harsh contacts and cruel blows? Though I suffered from a

knowledge of these debates, there were moments when I was happy in the
sense that she rested upon my heart; for she told me of these new

troubles. Day by day I learned more fully the meaning of her words,--
"Love me as my aunt loved me."

"Have you no ambition?" the duchess said to me at dinner, with a stern
air.

"Madame," I replied, giving her a serious look, "I have enough in me
to conquer the world; but I am only twenty-one, and I am all alone."

She looked at her daughter with some astonishment. Evidently she
believed that Henriette had crushed my ambition in order to keep me

near her. The visit of Madame de Lenoncourt was a period of unrelieved
constraint. The countess begged me to be cautious; she was frightened

by the least kind word; to please her I wore the harness of deceit.
The great Thursday came; it was a day of wearisome ceremonial,--one of

those stiff days which lovers hate, when their chair is no longer in
its place, and the mistress of the house cannot be with them. Love has

a horror of all that does not concern itself. But the duchess returned
at last to the pomps and vanities of the court, and Clochegourde

recovered its accustomed order.
My little quarrel with the count resulted in making me more at home in

the house than ever; I could go there at all times without hindrance;
and the antecedents of my life inclined me to cling like a climbing

plant to the beautiful soul which had opened to me the enchanting
world of shared emotions. Every hour, every minute, our fraternal

marriage, founded on trust, became a surer thing; each of us settled
firmly into our own position; the countess enfolded me with her

nurturing care, with the white draperies of a love that was wholly
maternal; while my love for her, seraphic in her presence, seared me

as with hot irons when away from her. I loved her with a double love
which shot its arrows of desire, and then lost them in the sky, where

they faded out of sight in the impermeable ether. If you ask me why,
young and ardent, I continued in the deluding dreams of Platonic love,

I must own to you that I was not yet man enough to torture that woman,
who was always in dread of some catastrophe to her children, always

fearing some outburst of her husband's stormy temper, martyrized by
him when not afflicted by the illness of Jacques or Madeleine, and

sitting beside one or the other of them when her husband allowed her a
little rest. The mere sound of too warm a word shook her whole being;

a desire shocked her; what she needed was a veiled love, support
mingled with tenderness,--that, in short, which she gave to others.

Then, need I tell you, who are so truly feminine? this situation
brought with it hours of delightful languor, moments of divine

sweetness and content which followed by secret immolation. Her
conscience was, if I may call it so, contagious; her self-devotion

without earthlyrecompense awed me by its persistence; the living,
inward piety which was the bond of her other virtues filled the air

about her with spiritualincense. Besides, I was young,--young enough
to concentrate my whole being on the kiss she allowed me too seldom to

lay upon her hand, of which she gave me only the back, and never the
palm, as though she drew the line of sensual emotions there. No two

souls ever clasped each other with so much ardor, no bodies were ever
more victoriously annihilated. Later I understood the cause of this

sufficing joy. At my age no worldly interests distracted my heart; no
ambitions blocked the stream of a love which flowed like a torrent,

bearing all things on its bosom. Later, we love the woman in a woman;
but the first woman we love is the whole of womanhood; her children

are ours, her interests are our interests, her sorrows our greatest
sorrow; we love her gown, the familiar things about her; we are more

grieved by a trifling loss of hers than if we knew we had lost
everything. This is the sacred love that makes us live in the being of

another; whereas later, alas! we draw another life into ours, and
require a woman to enrich our pauper spirit with her young soul.

I was now one of the household, and I knew for the first time an
infinite sweetness, which to a nature bruised as mine was like a bath

to a weary body; the soul is refreshed in every fibre, comforted to
its very depths. You will hardly understand me, for you are a woman,

and I am speaking now of a happiness women give but do not receive. A
man alone knows the choice happiness of being, in the midst of a

strange household, the privileged friend of its mistress, the secret
centre of her affections. No dog barks at you; the servants, like the

dogs, recognize your rights; the children (who are never misled, and
know that their power cannot be lessened, and that you cherish the

light of their life), the children possess the gift of divination,
they play with you like kittens and assume the friendly tyranny they

show only to those they love; they are full of intelligent discretion
and come and go on tiptoe without noise. Every one hastens to do you

service; all like you, and smile upon you. True passions are like
beautiful flowers all the more charming to the eye when they grow in a

barren soil.