Perhaps you might seek to follow me.  For that reason I conceal from you the name of the vessel, the port from which I sail, and the day of sailing.  After I am gone, when too late to follow me, a friend will tell you all.

Natalie! my affection is boundless.  I love you as a mother loves her child, as a lover loves his mistress, with absolute unselfishness.  To me the toil, to you the pleasures; to me all sufferings, to you all happiness.  Amuse yourself; continue your habits of luxury; go to theatres and operas, enjoy society and balls; I leave you free for all things.  Dear angel, when you return to this nest where for five years we have tasted the fruits which love has ripened think of your friend; think for a moment of me, and rest upon my heart.

That is all I ask of you.  For myself, dear eternal thought of mine! whether under burning skies, toiling for both of us, I face obstacles to vanquish, or whether, weary with the struggle, I rest my mind on hopes of a return, I shall think of you alone; of you who are my life,—­my blessed life!  Yes, I shall live in you.  I shall tell myself daily that you have no troubles, no cares; that you are happy.  As in our natural lives of day and night, of sleeping and waking, I shall have sunny days in Paris, and nights of toil in India,—­a painful dream, a joyful reality; and I shall live so utterly in that reality that my actual life will pass as a dream.  I shall have memories!  I shall recall, line by line, strophe by strophe, our glorious five years’ poem.  I shall remember the days of your pleasure in some new dress or some adornment which made you to my eyes a fresh delight.  Yes, dear angel, I go like a man vowed to some great emprize, the guerdon of which, if success attend him, is the recovery of his beautiful mistress.  Oh! my precious love, my Natalie, keep me as a religion in your heart.  Be the child that I have just seen asleep!  If you betray my confidence, my blind confidence, you need not fear my anger—­be sure of that; I should die silently.  But a wife does not deceive the man who leaves her free—­for woman is never base.  She tricks a tyrant; but an easy treachery, which would kill its victim, she will not commit—­No, no!  I will not think of it.  Forgive this cry, this single cry, so natural to the heart of man!

Dear love, you will see de Marsay; he is now the lessee of our house, and he will leave you in possession of it.  This nominal lease was necessary to avoid a useless loss.  Our creditors, ignorant that their payment is a question of time only, would otherwise have seized the furniture and the temporary possession of the house.  Be kind to de Marsay; I have the most entire confidence in his capacity and his loyalty.  Take him as your defender and adviser, make him your slave.  However