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deceiving you as to what she will be。What shall I be？ A mother？ I
hope it。 Believe me； I hope it eagerly。 Try to change me； you have my
consent； but if I should die； my dear； do not curse my memory； and do
not set down to obstinacy what I should call the worship of the Ideal；
if it were not more natural to call the indefinable feeling which must
kill me the worship of the Divine！ The future will be nothing to me；
it will be your concern； consult your own mind。〃
〃 'And she sat down in the calm attitude you used to admire； and
watched me turning pale with the pain she had inflicted。 My blood ran
cold。 On seeing the effect of her words she took both my hands； and；
holding them in her own； she said：
〃 ' 〃Octave； I do love you； but not in the way you wish to be loved。 I
love your soul。 。 。 。 Still； understand that I love you enough to die
in your service like an Eastern slave； and without a regret。 It will
be my expiation。〃
〃 'She did more； she knelt before me on a cushion； and in a spirit of
sublime charity she said：
〃 ' 〃And perhaps I shall not die！〃
〃 'For two months now I have been struggling with myself。 What shall I
do？ My heart is too full； I therefore seek a friend； and send out this
cry； 〃What shall I do？〃 '
〃I did not answer this letter。 Two months later the newspapers
announced the return on board an English vessel of the Comtesse
Octave； restored to her family after adventures by land and sea；
invented with sufficient probability to arouse no contradiction。
〃When I moved to Genoa I received a formal announcement of the happy
event of the birth of a son to the Count and Countess。 I held that
letter in my hand for two hours； sitting on this terraceon this
bench。 Two months after； urged by Octave； by M。 de Grandville； and
Monsieur de Serizy； my kind friends； and broken by the death of my
uncle； I agreed to take a wife。
〃Six months after the revolution of July I received this letter； which
concludes the story of this couple：
〃 'MONSIEUR MAURICE；I am dying though I am a motherperhaps because
I am a mother。 I have played my part as a wife well； I have deceived
my husband。 I have had happiness not less genuine than the tears shed
by actresses on the stage。 I am dying for society； for the family； for
marriage； as the early Christians died for God！ I know not of what I
am dying； and I am honestly trying to find out； for I am not perverse；
but I am bent on explaining my malady to youyou who brought that
heavenly physician your uncle； at whose word I surrendered。 He was my
director； I nursed him in his last illness； and he showed me the way
to heaven； bidding me persevere in my duty。
〃 'And I have done my duty。
〃 'I do not blame those who forget。 I admire them as strong and
necessary natures； but I have the malady of memory！ I have not been
able twice to feel that love of the heart which identifies a woman
with the man she loves。 To the last moment； as you know； I cried to
your heart； in the confessional； and to my husband； 〃Have mercy！〃 But
there was no mercy。 Well； and I am dying； dying with stupendous
courage。 No courtesan was ever more gay than I。 My poor Octave is
happy； I let his love feed on the illusions of my heart。 I throw all
my powers into this terrible masquerade； the actress is applauded；
feasted； smothered in flowers； but the invisible rival comes every day
to seek its preya fragment of my life。 I am rent and I smile。 I
smile on two children； but it is the elder； the dead one； that will
triumph！ I told you so before。 The dead child calls me； and I am going
to him。
〃 'The intimacy of marriage without love is a position in which my
soul feels degraded every hour。 I can never weep or give myself up to
dreams but when I am alone。 The exigencies of society； the care of my
child； and that of Octave's happiness never leave me a moment to
refresh myself； to renew my strength； as I could in my solitude。 The
incessant need for watchfulness startles my heart with constant
alarms。 I have not succeeded in implanting in my soul the sharp…eared
vigilance that lies with facility； and has the eyes of a lynx。 It is
not the lip of one I love that drinks my tears and kisses them； my
burning eyes are cooled with water； and not with tender lips。 It is my
soul that acts a part； and that perhaps is why I am dying！ I lock up
my griefs with so much care that nothing is to be seen of it； it must
eat into something； and it has attacked my life。
〃 'I said to the doctors； who discovered my secret； 〃Make me die of
some plausible complaint； or I shall drag my husband with me。〃
〃 'So it is quite understood by M。 Desplein； Bianchon； and myself that
I am dying of the softening of some bone which science has fully
described。 Octave believes that I adore him； do you understand？ So I
am afraid lest he should follow me。 I now write to beg you in that
case to be the little Count's guardian。 You will find with this a
codicil in which I have expressed my wish； but do not produce it
excepting in case of need； for perhaps I am fatuously vain。 My
devotion may perhaps leave Octave inconsolable but willing to live。
Poor Octave！ I wish him a better wife than I am； for he deserves to be
well loved。
〃 'Since my spiritual spy is married； I bid him remember what the
florist of the Rue Saint…Maur hereby bequeaths to him as a lesson： May
your wife soon be a mother！ Fling her into the vulgarest materialism
of household life； hinder her from cherishing in her heart the
mysterious flower of the Idealof that heavenly perfection in which I
believed； that enchanted blossom with glorious colors； and whose
perfume disgusts us with reality。 I am a Saint…Theresa who has not
been suffered to live on ecstasy in the depths of a convent； with the
Holy Infant； and a spotless winged angel to come and go as she wished。
〃 'You saw me happy among my beloved flowers。 I did not tell you all：
I saw love budding under your affected madness； and I concealed from
you my thoughts； my poetry； I did not admit you to my kingdom of
beauty。 Well； well； you will love my child for love of me if he should
one day lose his poor father。 Keep my secrets as the grave will keep
them。 Do not mourn for me； I have been dead this many a day； if Saint
Bernard was right in saying that where there is no more love there is
no more life。' 〃
〃And the Countess died；〃 said the Consul； putting away the letters and
locking the pocket…book。
〃Is the Count still living？〃 asked the Ambassador； 〃for since the
revolution of July he has disappeared from the political stage。〃
〃Do you remember； Monsieur de Lora；〃 said the Consul…General； 〃having
seen me going to the steamboat with〃
〃A white…haired man！ an old man？〃 said the painter。
〃An old man of forty…five； going in search of health and amusement in
Southern Italy。 That old man was my poor friend； my patron； passing
through Genoa to take leave of me and place his will in my hands。 He
appoints me his son's guardian。 I had no occasion to tell him of
Honorine's wishes。〃
〃Does he suspect himself of murder？〃 said Mademoiselle des Touches to
the Baron de l'Hostal。
〃He suspects the truth；〃 replied the Consul； 〃and that is what is