which has never failed me.  Ah, yes, the man, the heart and soul, which I shall have known will exist no longer.  I shall bury him deep in my memory, that I may have the joy of him still; I shall live happy in that fair past life of ours, a life hidden from all but our inmost selves.

“Dear treasure of mine, if all the while no least thought of liberty has risen in your mind, if my love is no burden on you, if my fears are chimerical, if I am still your Eve—­the one woman in the world for you—­come to me as soon as you have read this letter, come quickly!  Ah, in one moment I will love you more than I have ever loved you, I think, in these nine years.  After enduring the needless torture of these doubts of which I am accusing myself, every added day of love, yes, every single day, will be a whole lifetime of bliss.  So speak, and speak openly; do not deceive me, it would be a crime.  Tell me, do you wish for your liberty?  Have you thought of all that a man’s life means?  Is there any regret in your mind?  That I should cause you a regret!  I should die of it.  I have said it:  I love you enough to set your happiness above mine, your life before my own.  Leave on one side, if you can, the wealth of memories of our nine years’ happiness, that they may not influence your decision, but speak!  I submit myself to you as to God, the one Consoler who remains if you forsake me.”

When Mme. de Beauseant knew that her letter was in M. de Nueil’s hands, she sank in such utter prostration, the over-pressure of many thoughts so numbed her faculties, that she seemed almost drowsy.  At any rate, she was suffering from a pain not always proportioned in its intensity to a woman’s strength; pain which women alone know.  And while the unhappy Marquise awaited her doom, M. de Nueil, reading her letter, felt that he was “in a very difficult position,” to use the expression that young men apply to a crisis of this kind.

By this time he had all but yielded to his mother’s importunities and to the attractions of Mlle. de la Rodiere, a somewhat insignificant, pink-and-white young person, as straight as a poplar.  It is true that, in accordance with the rules laid down for marriageable young ladies, she scarcely opened her mouth, but her rent-roll of forty thousand livres spoke quite sufficiently for her.  Mme. de Nueil, with a mother’s sincere affection, tried to entangle her son in virtuous courses.  She called his attention to the fact that it was a flattering distinction to be preferred by Mlle. de la Rodiere, who had refused so many great matches; it was quite time, she urged, that he should think of his future, such a good opportunity might not repeat itself, some day he would have eighty thousand livres of income from land; money made everything bearable; if Mme. de Beauseant loved him for his own sake, she ought to be the first to urge him to marry.  In short, the well-intentioned mother forgot no arguments which the feminine intellect can bring to bear upon the masculine mind, and by these means she had brought her son into a wavering condition.