“Drive on quickly to Clochegourde,” cried the countess, to whom that cutting look was like the blow of an axe upon her heart.

The coachman turned to get upon the road to Chinon which was better than that to Sache.  As the carriage again approached the moor we heard the furious galloping of Arabella’s horse and the steps of her dog.  All three were skirting the wood behind the bushes.

“She is going; you will lose her forever,” said Henriette.

“Let her go,” I answered, “and without a regret.”

“Oh, poor woman!” cried the countess, with a sort of compassionate horror.  “Where will she go?”

“Back to La Grenadiere,—­a little house near Saint-Cyr,” I said, “where she is staying.”

Just as we were entering the avenue of Clochegourde Arabella’s dog barked joyfully and bounded up to the carriage.

“She is here before us!” cried the countess; then after a pause she added, “I have never seen a more beautiful woman.  What a hand and what a figure!  Her complexion outdoes the lily, her eyes are literally bright as diamonds.  But she rides too well; she loves to display her strength; I think her violent and too active,—­also too bold for our conventions.  The woman who recognizes no law is apt to listen only to her caprices.  Those who seek to shine, to make a stir, have not the gift of constancy.  Love needs tranquillity; I picture it to myself like a vast lake in which the lead can find no bottom; where tempests may be violent, but are rare and controlled within certain limits; where two beings live on a flowery isle far from the world whose luxury and display offend them.  Still, love must take the imprint of the character.  Perhaps I am wrong.  If nature’s elements are compelled to take certain forms determined by climate, why is it not the same with the feelings of individuals?  No doubt sentiments, feelings, which hold to the general law in the mass, differ in expression only.  Each soul has its own method.  Lady Dudley is the strong woman who can traverse distances and act with the vigor of a man; she would rescue her lover and kill jailers and guards; while other women can only love with their whole souls; in moments of danger they kneel down to pray, and die.  Which of the two women suits you best?  That is the question.  Yes, yes, Lady Dudley must surely love; she has made many sacrifices.  Perhaps she will love you when you have ceased to love her!”

“Dear angel,” I said, “let me ask the question you asked me; how is it that you know these things?”

“Every sorrow teaches a lesson, and I have suffered on so many points that my knowledge is vast.”

My servant had heard the order given, and thinking we should return by the terraces he held my horse ready for me in the avenue.  Arabella’s dog had scented the horse, and his mistress, drawn by very natural curiosity, had followed the animal through the woods to the avenue.

“Go and make your peace,” said Henriette, smiling without a tinge of sadness.  “Say to Lady Dudley how much she mistakes my intention; I wished to show her the true value of the treasure which has fallen to her; my heart holds none but kind feelings, above all neither anger nor contempt.  Explain to her that I am her sister, and not her rival.”