a child, the Creole woman must have her way immediately; like a child, she would burn a house to boil an egg.  In her soft and easy life she takes no care upon her mind; but when impassioned, she thinks of all things.  She has something of the perfidy of the Negroes by whom she has been surrounded from her cradle, but she is also as naive and even, at times, as artless as they.  Like them and like the children, she wishes doggedly for one thing with a growing intensity of desire, and will brood upon that idea until she hatches it.  A strange assemblage of virtues and defects! which her Spanish nature had strengthened in Madame Evangelista, and over which her French experience had cast the glaze of its politeness.

This character, slumbering in married happiness for sixteen years, occupied since then with the trivialities of social life, this nature to which a first hatred had revealed its strength, awoke now like a conflagration; at the moment of the woman’s life when she was losing the dearest object of her affections and needed another element for the energy that possessed her, this flame burst forth.  Natalie could be but three days more beneath her influence!  Madame Evangelista, vanquished at other points, had one clear day before her, the last of those that a daughter spends beside her mother.  A few words, and the Creole nature could influence the lives of the two beings about to walk together through the brambled paths and the dusty high-roads of Parisian society, for Natalie believed in her mother blindly.  What far-reaching power would the counsel of that Creole nature have on a mind so subservient!  The whole future of these lives might be determined by one single speech.  No code, no human institution can prevent the crime that kills by words.  There lies the weakness of social law; in that is the difference between the morals of the great world and the morals of the people:  one is frank, the other hypocritical; one employs the knife, the other the venom of ideas and language; to one death, to the other impunity.

The next morning, about mid-day, Madame Evangelista was half seated, half lying on the edge of her daughter’s bed.  During that waking hour they caressed and played together in happy memory of their loving life; a life in which no discord had ever troubled either the harmony of their feelings, the agreement of their ideas, or the mutual choice and enjoyment of their pleasures.

“Poor little darling!” said the mother, shedding true tears, “how can I help being sorrowful when I think that after I have fulfilled your every wish during your whole life you will belong, to-morrow night, to a man you must obey?”

“Oh, my dear mother, as for obeying!—­” and Natalie made a little motion of her head which expressed a graceful rebellion.  “You are joking,” she continued.  “My father always gratified your caprices; and why not? he loved you.  And I am loved, too.”

“Yes, Paul has a certain love for you.  But if a married woman is not careful nothing more rapidly evaporates than conjugal love.  The influence a wife ought to have over her husband depends entirely on how she begins with him.  You need the best advice.”