to feel no longer cold indifference! to find one’s very life depending on a thousand trifles! —­on a walk where an eye will beam to us from a crowd, on a glance which pales the sun!  Ah! what intoxication, dear, to live! to live when other women are praying on their knees for emotions that never come to them!  Remember, darling, that for this poem of delight there is but a single moment,—­youth!  In a few years winter comes, and cold.  Ah! if you possessed these living riches of the heart, and were threatened with the loss of them—­”

Madame du Tillet, terrified, had covered her face with her hands during the passionate utterance of this anthem.

“I did not even think of reproaching you, my beloved,” she said at last, seeing her sister’s face bathed in hot tears.  “You have cast into my soul, in one moment, more brands than I have tears to quench.  Yes, the life I live would justify to my heart a love like that you picture.  Let me believe that if we could have seen each other oftener, we should not now be where we are.  If you had seen my sufferings, you must have valued your own happiness the more, and you might have strengthened me to resist my tyrant, and so have won a sort of peace.  Your misery is an incident which chance may change, but mine is daily and perpetual.  To my husband I am a peg on which to hang his luxury, the sign-post of his ambition, a satisfaction to his vanity.  He has no real affection for me, and no confidence.  Ferdinand is hard and polished as that piece of marble,” she continued, striking the chimney-piece.  “He distrusts me.  Whatever I may want for myself is refused before I ask it; but as for what flatters his vanity and proclaims his wealth, I have no occasion to express a wish.  He decorates my apartments; he spends enormous sums upon my entertainments; my servants, my opera-box, all external matters are maintained with the utmost splendor.  His vanity spares no expense; he would trim his children’s swaddling-clothes with lace if he could, but he would never hear their cries, or guess their needs.  Do you understand me?  I am covered with diamonds when I go to court; I wear the richest jewels in society, but I have not one farthing I can use.  Madame du Tillet, who, they say, is envied, who appears to float in gold, has not a hundred francs she can call her own.  If the father cares little for his child, he cares less for its mother.  Ah! he has cruelly made me feel that he bought me, and that in marrying me without a ‘dot’ he was wronged.  I might perhaps have won him to love me, but there’s an outside influence against it,—­that of a woman, who is over fifty years of age, the widow of a notary, who rules him.  I shall never be free, I know that, so long as he lives.  My life is regulated like that of a queen; my meals are served with the utmost formality; at a given hour I must drive to the Bois; I am always accompanied by two footmen in full dress; I am obliged to return at a certain hour.  Instead of giving orders, I receive