it on my heart, which was beating fast.

"Again!" she said, withdrawing her hand as if it pained her. "Are you
determined to deny me the sad comfort of letting my wounds be stanched

by a friendly hand? Do not add to my sufferings; you do not know them
all; those that are hidden are the worst to bear. If you were a woman

you would know the melancholydisgust that fills her soul when she
sees herself the object of attentions which atone for nothing, but are

thought to atone for all. For the next few days I shall be courted and
caressed, that I may pardon the wrong that has been done. I could then

obtain consent to any wish of mine, however unreasonable. I am
humiliated by his humility, by caresses which will cease as soon as he

imagines that I have forgotten that scene. To owe our master's good
graces to his faults--"

"His crimes!" I interrupted quickly.
"Is not that a frightful condition of existence?" she continued, with

a sad smile. "I cannot use this transient power. At such times I am
like the knights who could not strike a fallen adversary. To see in

the dust a man whom we ought to honor, to raise him only to enable him
to deal other blows, to suffer from his degradation more than he

suffers himself, to feel ourselves degraded if we profit by such
influence for even a useful end, to spend our strength, to waste the

vigor of our souls in struggles that have no grandeur, to have no
power except for a moment when a fatal crisis comes--ah, better death!

If I had no children I would let myself drift on the wretched current
of this life; but if I lose my courage, what will become of them? I

must live for them, however cruel this life may be. You talk to me of
love. Ah! my dear friend, think of the hell into which I should fling

myself if I gave that pitiless being, pitiless like all weak
creatures, the right to despise me. The purity of my conduct is my

strength. Virtue, dear friend, is holy water in which we gain fresh
strength, from which we issue renewed in the love of God."

"Listen to me, dear Henriette; I have only another week to stay here,
and I wish--"

"Ah, you mean to leave us!" she exclaimed.
"You must know what my father intends to do with me," I replied. "It

is now three months--"
"I have not counted the days," she said, with momentary self-

abandonment. Then she checked herself and cried, "Come, let us go to
Frapesle."

She called the count and the children, sent for a shawl, and when all
were ready she, usually so calm and slow in all her movements, became

as active as a Parisian, and we started in a body to pay a visit at
Frapesle which the countess did not owe. She forced herself to talk to

Madame de Chessel, who was fortunately discursive in her answers. The
count and Monsieur de Chessel conversed on business. I was afraid the

former might boast of his carriage and horses; but he committed no
such solecisms. His neighbor questioned him about his projected

improvements at the Cassine and the Rhetoriere. I looked at the count,
wondering if he would avoid a subject of conversation so full of

painful memories to all, so cruelly mortifying to him. On the
contrary, he explained how urgent a duty it was to better the

agricultural condition of the canton, to build good houses and make
the premises salubrious; in short, he glorified himself with his

wife's ideas. I blushed as I looked at her. Such want of scruple in a
man who, on certain occasions, could be scrupulous enough, this

oblivion of the dreadful scene, this adoption of ideas against which
he had fought so violently, this confidentbelief in himself,

petrified me.
When Monsieur de Chessel said to him, "Do you expect to recover your

outlay?"
"More than recover it!" he exclaimed, with a confident gesture.

Such contradictions can be explained only by the word "insanity."
Henriette, celestial creature, was radiant. The count was appearing to

be a man of intelligence, a good administrator, an excellent
agriculturist; she played with her boy's curly head, joyous for him,

happy for herself. What a comedy of pain, what mockery in this drama;
I was horrified by it. Later in life, when the curtain of the world's

stage was lifted before me, how many other Mortsaufs I saw without the
loyalty and the religious faith of this man. What strange, relentless

power is it that perpetually awards an angel to a madman; to a man of
heart, of true poeticpassion, a base woman; to the petty, grandeur;

to this demented brain, a beautiful, sublime being; to Juana, Captain
Diard, whose history at Bordeaux I have told you; to Madame de

Beauseant, an Ajuda; to Madame d'Aiglemont, her husband; to the
Marquis d'Espard, his wife! Long have I sought the meaning of this

enigma. I have ransacked many mysteries, I have discovered the reason
of many natural laws, the purport of some divine hieroglyphics; of the

meaning of this dark secret I know nothing. I study it as I would the
form of an Indian weapon, the symbolic construction of which is known

only to the Brahmans. In this dread mystery the spirit of Evil is too
visibly the master; I dare not lay the blame to God. Anguish

irremediable, what power finds amusement in weaving you? Can Henriette
and her mysteriousphilosopher be right? Does their mysticism contain

the explanation of humanity?
The autumn leaves were falling during the last few days which I passed

in the valley, days of lowering clouds, which do sometimes obscure the
heaven of Touraine, so pure, so warm at that fine season. The evening

before my departure Madame de Mortsauf took me to the terrace before
dinner.

"My dear Felix," she said, after we had taken a turn in silence under
the leafless trees, "you are about to enter the world, and I wish to

go with you in thought. Those who have suffered much have lived and
known much. Do not think that solitary souls know nothing of the

world; on the contrary, they are able to judge it. Hear me: If I am to
live in and for my friend I must do what I can for his heart and for

his conscience. When the conflict rages it is hard to remember rules;
therefore let me give you a few instructions, the warnings of a mother

to her son. The day you leave us I shall give you a letter, a long
letter, in which you will find my woman's thoughts on the world, on

society, on men, on the right methods of meeting difficulty in this
great clash of human interests. Promise me not to read this letter

till you reach Paris. I ask it from a fanciful sentiment, one of those
secrets of womanhood not impossible to understand, but which we grieve

to find deciphered; leave me this covert way where as a woman I wish
to walk alone."

"Yes, I promise it," I said, kissing her hand.
"Ah," she added, "I have one more promise to ask of you; but grant it

first."
"Yes, yes!" I cried, thinking it was surely a promise of fidelity.

"It does not concern myself," she said smiling, with some bitterness.
"Felix, do not gamble in any house, no matter whose it be; I except

none."
"I will never play at all," I replied.

"Good," she said. "I have found a better use for your time than to
waste it on cards. The end will be that where others must sooner or

later be losers you will invariably win."
"How so?"

"The letter will tell you," she said, with a playful smile, which took
from her advice the serious tone which might certainly have been that

of a grandfather.
The countess talked to me for an hour, and proved the depth of her

affection by the study she had made of my nature during the last three
months. She penetrated the recesses of my heart, entering it with her

own; the tones of her voice were changeful and convincing; the words
fell from maternal lips, showing by their tone as well as by their

meaning how many ties already bound us to each other.
"If you knew," she said in conclusion, "with what anxiety I shall

follow your course, what joy I shall feel if you walk straight, what
tears I must shed if you strike against the angles! Believe that my

affection has no equal; it is involuntary and yet deliberate. Ah, I
would that I might see you happy, powerful, respected,--you who are to

me a living dream."
She made me weep, so tender and so terrible was she. Her feelings came

boldly to the surface, yet they were too pure to give the slightest
hope even to a young man thirsting for pleasure. Ignoring my tortured