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according to you； like Venetian blindsmy commanding air； and my
whole person； raised to the rank of sovereign power！ Ten years hence；
dear； why should we not both be laughing and gay in your Paris； whence
I shall carry you off now and again to my beautiful oasis in Provence？
Oh！ Louise； don't spoil the splendid future which awaits us both！
Don't do the mad things with which you threaten me。 My husband is a
young man； prematurely old； why don't you marry some young…hearted
graybeard in the Chamber of Peers？ There lies your vocation。
XIV
THE DUC DE SORIA TO THE BARON DE MACUMER
MADRID。
MY DEAR BROTHER；You did not make me Duc de Soria in order that my
actions should belie the name。 How could I tolerate my happiness if I
knew you to be a wanderer； deprived of the comforts which wealth
everywhere commands？ Neither Marie nor I will consent to marry till we
hear that you have accepted the money which Urraca will hand over to
you。 These two millions are the fruit of your own savings and Marie's。
We have both prayed； kneeling before the same altarand with what
earnestness； God knows！for your happiness。 My dear brother； it
cannot be that these prayers will remain unanswered。 Heaven will send
you the love which you seek； to be the consolation of your exile。
Marie read your letter with tears； and is full of admiration for you。
As for me； I consent； not for my own sake； but for that of the family。
The King justified your expectations。 Oh！ that I might avenge you by
letting him see himself； dwarfed before the scorn with which you flung
him his toy； as you might toss a tiger its food。
The only thing I have taken for myself； dear brother； is my happiness。
I have taken Marie。 For this I shall always be beholden to you； as the
creature to the Creator。 There will be in my life and in Marie's one
day not less glorious than our wedding dayit will be the day when we
hear that your heart has found its mate； that a woman loves you as you
ought to be； and would be； loved。 Do not forget that if you live for
us； we also live for you。
You can write to us with perfect confidence under cover to the Nuncio；
sending your letters /via/ Rome。 The French ambassador at Rome will；
no doubt； undertake to forward them to Monsignore Bemboni； at the
State Secretary's office； whom our legate will have advised。 No other
way would be safe。 Farewell； dear exile； dear despoiled one。 Be proud
at least of the happiness which you have brought to us； if you cannot
be happy in it。 God will doubtless hear our prayers； which are full of
your name。
XV
LOUISE DE CHAULIEU TO MME。 DE L'ESTORADE
March。
Ah！ my love； marriage is making a philosopher of you！ Your darling
face must； indeed； have been jaundiced when you wrote me those
terrible views of human life and the duty of women。 Do you fancy you
will convert me to matrimony by your programme of subterranean labors？
Alas！ is this then the outcome for you of our too…instructed dreams！
We left Blois all innocent； armed with the pointed shafts of
meditation； and； lo！ the weapons of that purely ideal experience have
turned against your own breast！ If I did not know you for the purest
and most angelic of created beings； I declare I should say that your
calculations smack of vice。 What； my dear； in the interest of your
country home； you submit your pleasures to a periodic thinning； as you
do your timber。 Oh！ rather let me perish in all the violence of the
heart's storms than live in the arid atmosphere of your cautious
arithmetic！
As girls； we were both unusually enlightened； because of the large
amount of study we gave to our chosen subjects； but； my child；
philosophy without love； or disguised under a sham love； is the most
hideous of conjugal hypocrisies。 I should imagine that even the
biggest of fools might detect now and again the owl of wisdom
squatting in your bower of rosesa ghastly phantom sufficient to put
to flight the most promising of passions。 You make your own fate；
instead of waiting； a plaything in its hands。
We are each developing in strange ways。 A large dose of philosophy to
a grain of love is your recipe； a large dose of love to a grain of
philosophy is mine。 Why； Rousseau's Julie； whom I thought so learned；
is a mere beginner to you。 Woman's virtue； quotha！ How you have
weighed up life！ Alas！ I make fun of you； and； after all； perhaps you
are right。
In one day you have made a holocaust of your youth and become a miser
before your time。 Your Louis will be happy； I daresay。 If he loves
you； of which I make no doubt； he will never find out； that； for the
sake of your family； you are acting as a courtesan does for money； and
certainly men seem to find happiness with them； judging by the
fortunes they squander thus。 A keen…sighted husband might no doubt
remain in love with you； but what sort of gratitude could he feel in
the long run for a woman who had made of duplicity a sort of moral
armor； as indispensable as her stays？
Love； dear； is in my eyes the first principle of all the virtues；
conformed to the divine likeness。 Like all other first principles； it
is not a matter of arithmetic； it is the Infinite in us。 I cannot but
think you have been trying to justify in your own eyes the frightful
position of a girl； married to a man for whom she feels nothing more
than esteem。 You prate of duty； and make it your rule and measure； but
surely to take necessity as the spring of action is the moral theory
of atheism？ To follow the impulse of love and feeling is the secret
law of every woman's heart。 You are acting a man's part； and your
Louis will have to play the woman！
Oh！ my dear； your letter has plunged me into an endless train of
thought。 I see now that the convent can never take the place of mother
to a girl。 I beg of you； my grand angel with the black eyes； so pure
and proud； so serious and so pretty； do not turn away from these
cries； which the first reading of your letter has torn from me！ I have
taken comfort in the thought that； while I was lamenting； love was
doubtless busy knocking down the scaffolding of reason。
It may be that I shall do worse than you without any reasoning or
calculations。 Passion is an element in life bound to have a logic not
less pitiless than yours。
Monday。
Yesterday night I placed myself at the window as I was going to bed；
to look at the sky； which was wonderfully clear。 The stars were like
silver nails； holding up a veil of blue。 In the silence of the night I
could hear some one breathing； and by the half…light of the stars I
saw my Spaniard； perched like a squirrel on the branches of one of the
trees lining the boulevard； and doubtless lost in admiration of my
windows。
The first effect of this discovery was to make me withdraw into the
room； my feet and hands quite limp and nerveless； but； beneath the
fear； I was conscious of a delicious undercurrent of joy。 I was
overpowered but happy。 Not one of those clever Frenchmen； who aspire
to marry me； has had the brilliant idea of spending the night in an
elm…tree at the risk of being carried off by the watch。 My Spaniard
has； no doubt； been there for some time。 Ah！ he won't give me any mor