of the heart, and the momentary ruin of all interests!  To lose you at a moment when my admiration of your greatness thrilled me! what woman could have resisted such a tempest of emotion?  To know you far away when your hand upon my heart would have stilled its throbbings; to feel that you were not here to give me that look so precious to me, to rejoice in our new hopes; that I was not with you to soften your sorrows by those caresses which made your Natalie so dear to you!  I wished to start, to follow you, to fly to you.  But my mother told me you had taken passage in a ship which leaves Bordeaux to-morrow, that I could not reach you except by post, and, moreover, that it was madness in my present state to risk our future by attempting to follow you.  I could not bear such violent emotions; I was taken ill, and am writing to you now in bed.

My mother is doing all she can to stop certain calumnies which seem to have got about on your disaster.  The Vandenesses, Charles and Felix, have earnestly defended you; but your friend de Marsay treats the affair satirically.  He laughs at your accusers instead of replying to them.  I do not like his way of lightly brushing aside such serious attacks.  Are you not deceived in him?  However, I will obey you; I will make him my friend.  Do not be anxious, my adored one, on the points that concern your honor; is it not mine as well?  My diamonds shall be pledged; we intend, mamma and I, to employ our utmost resources in the payment of your debts; and we shall try to buy back your vineyard at Belle-Rose.  My mother, who understands business like a lawyer, blames you very much for not having told her of your embarrassments.  She would not have bought —­thinking to please you—­the Grainrouge domain, and then she could have lent you that money as well as the thirty thousand francs she brought with her.  She is in despair at your decision; she fears the climate of India for your health.  She entreats you to be sober, and not to let yourself be trapped by women—­That made me laugh; I am as sure of you as I am of myself.  You will return to me rich and faithful.  I alone know your feminine delicacy, and the secret sentiments which make you a human flower worthy of the gardens of heaven.  The Bordeaux people were right when they gave you your floral nickname.

But alas! who will take care of my delicate flower?  My heart is rent with dreadful ideas.  I, his wife, Natalie, I am here, and perhaps he suffers far away from me!  And not to share your pains, your vexations, your dangers!  In whom will you confide? how will you live without that ear into which you have hitherto poured all?  Dear, sensitive plant, swept away by this storm, will you be able to survive in another soil than your native land?

It seems to me that I have been alone for centuries.  I have wept sorely.  To be the cause of your ruin!  What a text for the thoughts of a loving woman!  You treated me