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beautiful illusions of its youth. But of this radiantexistence not a

gleam reached the surface of daily life; it escaped the ken of Dumay



and his wife and the Latournelles; the ears of the blind mother alone

caught the crackling of its flame.



The profounddisdain which Modeste now conceived for ordinary men gave

to her face a look of pride, an inexpressible untamed shyness, which



tempered her Teutonic simplicity, and accorded well with a peculiarity

of her head. The hair growing in a point above the forehead seemed the



continuation of a slight line which thought had already furrowed

between the eyebrows, and made the expression of untameability perhaps



a shade too strong. The voice of this charming child, whom her father,

delighting in her wit, was wont to call his "little proverb of



Solomon," had acquired a precious flexibility of organ through the

practice of three languages. This advantage was still further enhanced



by a natural bell-like tone both sweet and fresh, which touched the

heart as delightfully as it did the ear. If the mother could no longer



see the signs of a noble destiny upon her daughter's brow, she could

study the transitions of her soul's development in the accents of that



voice attuned to love.

CHAPTER VI



A MAIDEN'S FIRST ROMANCE

To this period of Modeste's eager rage for reading succeeded the



exercise of a strange faculty given to vigorousimaginations,--the

power, namely, of making herself an actor in a dream-existence; of



representing to her own mind the things desired, with so vivid a

conception that they seemed actually" target="_blank" title="ad.事实上;实际上">actually to attainreality; in short, to



enjoy by thought,--to live out her years within her mind; to marry; to

grow old; to attend her own funeral like Charles V.; to play within



herself the comedy of life and, if need be, that of death. Modeste was

indeed playing, but all alone, the comedy of Love. She fancied herself



adored to the summit of her wishes in many an imagined phase of social

life. Sometimes as the heroine of a dark romance, she loved the



executioner, or the wretch who ended her days upon the scaffold, or,

like her sister, some Parisian youth without a penny, whose struggles



were all beneath a garret-roof. Sometimes she was Ninon, scorning men

amid continual fetes; or some applauded actress, or gay adventuress,



exhausting in her own behalf the luck of Gil Blas, or the triumphs of

Pasta, Malibran, and Florine. Then, weary of the horrors and



excitements, she returned to actual life. She married a notary, she

ate the plain brown bread of honest everyday life, she saw herself a



Madame Latournelle; she accepted a painfulexistence, she bore all the

trials of a struggle with fortune. After that she went back to the



romances: she was loved for her beauty; a son of a peer of France, an

eccentric, artistic young man, divined her heart, recognized the star



which the genius of a De Stael had planted on her brow. Her father

returned, possessing millions. With his permission, she put her



various lovers to certain tests (always carefully guarding her own

independence); she owned a magnificentestate and castle, servants,



horses, carriages, the choicest of everything that luxury could

bestow, and kept her suitors uncertain until she was forty years old,



at which age she made her choice.

This edition of the Arabian Nights in a single copy lasted nearly a



year, and taught Modeste the sense of satiety through thought. She

held her life too often in her hand, she said to herself



philosophically and with too real a bitterness, too seriously, and too

often, "Well, what is it, after all?" not to have plunged to her waist



in the deep disgust which all men of genius feel when they try to

complete by intense toil the work to which they have devoted



themselves. Her youth and her rich nature alone kept Modeste at this

period of her life from seeking to enter a cloister. But this sense of






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