The situation of Madame de Vandenesse can, however, be explained without recourse to Biblical images.  She felt in her soul an enormous power that was unemployed.  Her happiness gave her no suffering; it rolled along without care or uneasiness; she was not afraid of losing it; each morning it shone upon her, with the same blue sky, the same smile, the same sweet words.  That clear, still lake was unruffled by any breeze, even a zephyr; she would fain have seen a ripple on its glassy surface.  Her desire had something so infantine about it that it ought to be excused; but society is not more indulgent than the God of Genesis.  Madame de Vandenesse, having now become intelligently clever, was aware that such sentiments were not permissible, and she refrained from confiding them to her “dear little husband.”  Her genuine simplicity had not invented any other name for him; for one can’t call up in cold blood that delightfully exaggerated language which love imparts to its victims in the midst of flames.

Vandenesse, glad of this adorable reserve, kept his wife, by deliberate calculations, in the temperate regions of conjugal affection.  He never condescended to seek a reward or even an acknowledgment of the infinite pains which he gave himself; his wife thought his luxury and good taste her natural right, and she felt no gratitude for the fact that her pride and self-love had never suffered.  It was thus in everything.  Kindness has its mishaps; often it is attributed to temperament; people are seldom willing to recognize it as the secret effort of a noble soul.

About this period of her life, Madame Felix de Vandenesse had attained to a degree of worldly knowledge which enabled her to quit the insignificant role of a timid, listening, and observing supernumerary, —­a part played, they say, for some time, by Giulia Grisi in the chorus at La Scala.  The young countess now felt herself capable of attempting the part of prima-donna, and she did so on several occasions.  To the great satisfaction of her husband, she began to mingle in conversations.  Intelligent ideas and delicate observations put into her mind by her intercourse with her husband, made her remarked upon, and success emboldened her.  Vandenesse, to whom the world admitted that his wife was beautiful, was delighted when the same assurance was given that she was clever and witty.  On their return from a ball, concert, or rout where Marie had shone brilliantly, she would turn to her husband, as she took off her ornaments, and say, with a joyous, self-assured air,—­

“Were you pleased with me this evening?”

The countess excited jealousies; among others that of her husband’s sister, Madame de Listomere, who until now had patronized her, thinking that she protected a foil to her own merits.  A countess, beautiful, witty and virtuous!—­what a prey for the tongues of the world!  Felix had broken with too many women, and too many women had broken with him, to leave them indifferent to his marriage.