In order that the letter of the Comtesse de Manerville be fully understood, it is necessary to give the one which Paul had written to her on the day that he left Paris.

  From Paul de Manerville to his wife: 

  My beloved,—­When you read this letter I shall be far away from
  you; perhaps already on the vessel which is to take me to India,
  where I am going to repair my shattered fortune.

I have not found courage to tell you of my departure.  I have deceived you; but it was best to do so.  You would only have been uselessly distressed; you would have wished to sacrifice your fortune, and that I could not have suffered.  Dear Natalie, feel no remorse; I have no regrets.  When I return with millions I shall imitate your father and lay them at your feet, as he laid his at the feet of your mother, saying to you:  “All I have is yours.”

I love you madly, Natalie; I say this without fear that the avowal will lead you to strain a power which none but weak men fear; yours has been boundless from the day I knew you first.  My love is the only accomplice in my disaster.  I have felt, as my ruin progressed, the delirious joys of a gambler; as the money diminished, so my enjoyment grew.  Each fragment of my fortune turned into some little pleasure for you gave me untold happiness.  I could have wished that you had more caprices that I might gratify them all.  I knew I was marching to a precipice, but I went on crowned with joys of which a common heart knows nothing.  I have acted like those lovers who take refuge in a cottage on the shores of some lake for a year or two, resolved to kill themselves at last; dying thus in all the glory of their illusions and their love.  I have always thought such persons infinitely sensible.

You have known nothing of my pleasures or my sacrifices.  The greatest joy of all was to hide from the one beloved the cost of her desires.  I can reveal these secrets to you now, for when you hold this paper, heavy with love, I shall be far away.  Though I lose the treasures of your gratitude, I do not suffer that contraction of the heart which would disable me if I spoke to you of these matters.  Besides, my own beloved, is there not a tender calculation in thus revealing to you the history of the past?  Does it not extend our love into the future?—­But we need no such supports!  We love each other with a love to which proof is needless,—­a love which takes no note of time or distance, but lives of itself alone.

Ah!  Natalie, I have just looked at you asleep, trustful, restful as a little child, your hand stretched toward me.  I left a tear upon the pillow which has known our precious joys.  I leave you without fear, on the faith of that attitude; I go to win the future of our love by bringing home to you a fortune large enough to gratify your every taste, and let no shadow of anxiety disturb our joys.  Neither you nor I can do without enjoyments