flowing through a valley; the rains, the brooks, the torrents hie to
it, the trees fall upon its surface, so do the flowers, the gravel of

its shores, the rocks of the summits; storms and the loitering tribute
of the crystal streams alike increase it. Yes, when love comes all

comes to love!
The first great danger over, the countess and I grew accustomed to

illness. In spite of the confusion which the care of the sick entails,
the count's room, once so untidy, was now clean and inviting. Soon we

were like two beings flung upon a desert island, for not only do
anxieties isolate, but they brush aside as petty the conventions of

the world. The welfare of the sick man obliged us to have points of
contact which no other circumstances would have authorized. Many a

time our hands, shy or timid formerly, met in some service that we
rendered to the count--was I not there to sustain and help my

Henriette? Absorbed in a duty comparable to that of a soldier at the
pickets, she forgot to eat; then I served her, sometimes on her lap, a

hasty meal which necessitated a thousand little attentions. We were
like children at a grave. She would order me sharply to prepare

whatever might ease the sick man's suffering; she employed me in a
hundred petty ways. During the time when actual danger obscured, as it

does during the battle, the subtile distinctions which characterize
the facts of ordinary life, she necessarily laid aside the reserve

which all women, even the most unconventional, preserve in their looks
and words and actions before the world or their own family. At the

first chirping of the birds she would come to relieve my watch,
wearing a morning garment which revealed to me once more the dazzling

treasures that in my folly I had treated as my own. Always dignified,
nay imposing, she could still be familiar.

Thus it came to pass that we found ourselves unconsciously intimate,
half-married as it were. She showed herself nobly confiding, as sure

of me as she was of herself. I was thus taken deeper and deeper into
her heart. The countess became once more my Henriette, Henriette

constrained to love with increasing strength the friend who endeavored
to be her second soul. Her hand unresistingly met mine at the least

solicitation; my eyes were permitted to follow with delight the lines
of her beauty during the long hours when we listened to the count's

breathing, without driving her from their sight. The meagre pleasures
which we allowed ourselves--sympathizing looks, words spoken in

whispers not to wake the count, hopes and fears repeated and again
repeated, in short, the thousand incidents of the fusion of two hearts

long separated--stand out in bright array upon the sombre background
of the actual scene. Our souls knew each other to their depths under

this test, which many a warm affection is unable to bear, finding life
too heavy or too flimsy in the close bonds of hourly intercourse.

You know what disturbance follows the illness of a master; how the
affairs of life seem to come to a standstill. Though the real care of

the family and estate fell upon Madame de Mortsauf, the count was
useful in his way; he talked with the farmers, transacted business

with his bailiff, and received the rents; if she was the soul, he was
the body. I now made myself her steward so that she could nurse the

count without neglecting the property. She accepted this as a matter
of course, in fact without thanking me. It was another sweet communion

to share her family cares, to transmit her orders. In the evenings we
often met in her room to discuss these interests and those of her

children. Such conversations gave one semblance the more to our
transitory marriage. With what delight she encouraged me to take a

husband's place, giving me his seat at table, sending me to talk with
the bailiff,--all in perfect innocence, yet not without that inward

pleasure the most virtuous woman in the world will feel when she finds
a course where strictobedience to duty and the satisfaction of her

wishes are combined.
Nullified, as it were, by illness, the count no longer oppressed his

wife or his household, the countess then became her natural self; she
busied herself with my affairs and showed me a thousand kindnesses.

With what joy I discovered in her mind a thought, vaguely conceived
perhaps, but exquisitely expressed, namely, to show me the full value

of her person and her qualities and make me see the change that would
come over her if she lived understood. This flower, kept in the cold

atmosphere of such a home, opened to my gaze, and to mine only; she
took as much delight in letting me comprehend her as I felt in

studying her with the searching eyes of love. She proved to me in all
the trifling things of daily life how much I was in her thoughts.

When, after my turn of watching, I went to bed and slept late,
Henriette would keep the house absolutely silent near me; Jacques and

Madeleine played elsewhere, though never ordered to do so; she
invented excuses to serve my breakfast herself--ah, with what

sparkling pleasure in her movements, what swallow-like rapidity, what
lynx-eyed perception! and then! what carnation on her cheeks, what

quiverings in her voice!
Can such expansions of the soul be described in words?

Often she was wearied out; but if, at such moments of lassitude my
welfare came in question, for me, as for her children, she found fresh

strength and sprang up eagerly and joyfully. How she loved to shed her
tenderness like sunbeams in the air! Ah, Natalie, some women share the

privileges of angels here below; they diffuse that light which Saint-
Martin, the mysteriousphilosopher, declared to be intelligent,

melodious, and perfumed. Sure of my discretion, Henriette took
pleasure in raising the curtain which hid the future and in showing me

two women in her,--the woman bound hand and foot who had won me in
spite of her severity, and the woman freed, whose sweetness should

make my love eternal! What a difference. Madame de Mortsauf was the
skylark of Bengal, transported to our cold Europe, mournful on its

perch, silent and dying in the cage of a naturalist; Henriette was the
singing bird of oriental poems in groves beside the Ganges, flying

from branch to branch like a living jewel amid the roses of a
volkameria that ever blooms. Her beauty grew more beautiful, her mind

recovered strength. The continualsparkle of this happiness was a
secret between ourselves, for she dreaded the eye of the Abbe Dominis,

the representative of the world; she masked her contentment with
playfulness, and covered the proofs of her tenderness with the banner

of gratitude.
"We have put your friendship to a severe test, Felix; we may give you

the same rights we give to Jacques, may we not, Monsieur l'abbe?" she
said one day.

The stern abbe answered with the smile of a man who can read the human
heart and see its purity; for the countess he always showed the

respect mingled with adoration which the angels inspire. Twice during
those fifty days the countess passed beyond the limits in which we

held our affection. But even these infringements were shrouded in a
veil, never lifted until the final hour when avowal came. One morning,

during the first days of the count's illness, when she repented her
harsh treatment in withdrawing the innocent privileges she had

formerly granted me, I was expecting her to relieve my watch. Much
fatigued, I fell asleep, my head against the wall. I wakened suddenly

at the touch of something cool upon my forehead which gave me a
sensation as if a rose had rested there. I opened my eyes and saw the

countess, standing a few steps distant, who said, "I have just come."
I rose to leave the room, but as I bade her good-bye I took her hand;

it was moist and trembling.
"Are you ill?" I said.

"Why do you ask that question?" she replied.
I looked at her blushing and confused. "I was dreaming," I replied.

Another time, when Monsieur Origet had announced positively that the
count was convalescent, I was lying with Jacques and Madeleine on the

step of the portico intent on a game of spillikins which we were
playing with bits of straw and hooks made of pins; Monsieur de

Mortsauf was asleep. The doctor, while waiting for his horse to be
harnessed, was talking with the countess in the salon. Monsieur Origet

went away without my noticing his departure. After he left, Henriette
leaned against the window, from which she watched us for some time

without our seeing her. It was one of those warm evenings when the sky
is copper-colored and the earth sends up among the echoes a myriad

mingling noises. A last ray of sunlight was leaving the roofs, the
flowers in the garden perfumed the air, the bells of the cattle

returning to their stalls sounded in the distance. We were all
conforming to the silence of the evening hour and hushing our voices

that we might not wake the count. Suddenly, I heard the guttural sound
of a sob violently" target="_blank" title="ad.强暴地；猛烈地">violently suppressed; I rushed into the salon and found the