He raised once more those awe-inspiring eyes, and mine fell before them.  Dear, this man is a hopeless enigma.  He seemed to ask whether my words meant love; and the mixture of joy, pride, and agonized doubt in his glance went to my heart.  It was plain that advances, which would be taken for what they were worth in France, might land me in difficulties with a Spaniard, and I drew back into my shell, feeling not a little foolish.

The lesson over, he bowed, and his eyes were eloquent of the humble prayer:  “Don’t trifle with a poor wretch.”

This sudden contrast to his usual grave and dignified manner made a great impression on me.  It seems horrible to think and to say, but I can’t help believing that there are treasures of affection in that man.

IX

MME. DE L’ESTORADE TO MLLE. DE CHAULIEU. 
December.

All is over, my dear child, and it is Mme. de l’Estorade who writes to you.  But between us there is no change; it is only a girl the less.

Don’t be troubled; I did not give my consent recklessly or without much thought.  My life is henceforth mapped out for me, and the freedom from all uncertainty as to the road for me to follow suits my mind and disposition.  A great moral power has stepped in, and once for all swept what we call chance out of my life.  We have the property to develop, our home to beautify and adorn; for me there is also a household to direct and sweeten and a husband to reconcile to life.  In all probability I shall have a family to look after, children to educate.

What would you have?  Everyday life cannot be cast in heroic mould.  No doubt there seems, at any rate at first sight, no room left in this scheme of life for that longing after the infinite which expands the mind and soul.  But what is there to prevent me from launching on that boundless sea our familiar craft?  Nor must you suppose that the humble duties to which I dedicate my life give no scope for passion.  To restore faith in happiness to an unfortunate, who has been the sport of adverse circumstances, is a noble work, and one which alone may suffice to relieve the monotony of my existence.  I can see no opening left for suffering, and I see a great deal of good to be done.  I need not hide from you that the love I have for Louis de l’Estorade is not of the kind which makes the heart throb at the sound of a step, and thrills us at the lightest tones of a voice, or the caress of a burning glance; but, on the other hand, there is nothing in him which offends me.

What am I to do, you will ask, with that instinct for all which is great and noble, with those mental energies, which have made the link between us, and which we still possess?  I admit that this thought has troubled me.  But are these faculties less ours because we keep them concealed, using them only in secret for the welfare of the family, as instruments to produce the happiness of those confided to our care, to whom we are bound to give ourselves without reserve?  The time during which a woman can look for admiration is short, it will soon be past; and if my life has not been a great one, it will at least have been calm, tranquil, free from shocks.