So my disaster was complete; it lacked nothing.  I followed the plan I had laid out for myself during my retreat at Sache; I plunged into work and gave myself wholly to science, literature, and politics.  I entered the diplomatic service on the accession of Charles X., who suppressed the employment I held under the late king.  From that moment I was firmly resolved to pay no further attention to any woman, no matter how beautiful, witty, or loving she might be.  This determination succeeded admirably; I obtained a really marvellous tranquillity of mind, and great powers of work, and I came to understand how much these women waste our lives, believing, all the while, that a few gracious words will repay us.

But—­all my resolutions came to naught; you know how and why.  Dear Natalie, in telling you my life, without reserve, without concealment, precisely as I tell it to myself, in relating to you feelings in which you have had no share, perhaps I have wounded some corner of your sensitive and jealous heart.  But that which might anger a common woman will be to you—­I feel sure of it—­an additional reason for loving me.  Noble women have indeed a sublime mission to fulfil to suffering and sickened hearts,—­the mission of the sister of charity who stanches the wound, of the mother who forgives a child.  Artists and poets are not the only ones who suffer; men who work for their country, for the future destiny of the nations, enlarging thus the circle of their passions and their thoughts, often make for themselves a cruel solitude.  They need a pure, devoted love beside them,—­believe me, they understand its grandeur and its worth.

To-morrow I shall know if I have deceived myself in loving you.

Felix.

ANSWER TO THE ENVOI

  Madame la Comtesse Natalie de Manerville to Monsieur le Comte
  Felix de Vandenesse.

Dear Count,—­You received a letter from poor Madame de Mortsauf, which, you say, was of use in guiding you through the world,—­a letter to which you owe your distinguished career.  Permit me to finish your education.

Give up, I beg of you, a really dreadful habit; do not imitate certain widows who talk of their first husband and throw the virtues of the deceased in the face of their second.  I am a Frenchwoman, dear count; I wish to marry the whole of the man I love, and I really cannot marry Madame de Mortsauf too.  Having read your tale with all the attention it deserves,—­and you know the interest I feel in you,—­it seems to me that you must have wearied Lady Dudley with the perfections of Madame de Mortsauf, and done great harm to the countess by overwhelming her with the experiences of your English love.  Also you have failed in tact to me, poor creature without other merit than that of pleasing you; you have given me to understand that I cannot love as Henriette or Arabella loved you.  I acknowledge my imperfections;