Sunday.

Yesterday, at the Italian Opera, I could feel some one was looking at me; my eyes were drawn, as by a magnet, to two wells of fire, gleaming like carbuncles in a dim corner of the orchestra.  Henarez never moved his eyes from me.  The wretch had discovered the one spot from which he could see me—­and there he was.  I don’t know what he may be as a politician, but for love he has a genius.

  Behold, my fair Renee, where our business now stands,

as the great Corneille has said.

XIII

MME. DE L’ESTORADE TO MLLE. DE CHAULIEU
LA CRAMPADE, February.

My dear Louise,—­I was bound to wait some time before writing to you; but now I know, or rather I have learned, many things which, for the sake of your future happiness, I must tell you.  The difference between a girl and a married woman is so vast, that the girl can no more comprehend it than the married woman can go back to girlhood again.

I chose to marry Louis de l’Estorade rather than return to the convent; that at least is plain.  So soon as I realized that the convent was the only alternative to marrying Louis, I had, as girls say, to “submit,” and my submission once made, the next thing was to examine the situation and try to make the best of it.

The serious nature of what I was undertaking filled me at first with terror.  Marriage is a matter concerning the whole of life, whilst love aims only at pleasure.  On the other hand, marriage will remain when pleasures have vanished, and it is the source of interests far more precious than those of the man and woman entering on the alliance.  Might it not therefore be that the only requisite for a happy marriage was friendship—­a friendship which, for the sake of these advantages, would shut its eyes to many of the imperfections of humanity?  Now there was no obstacle to the existence of friendship between myself and Louis de l’Estorade.  Having renounced all idea of finding in marriage those transports of love on which our minds used so often, and with such perilous rapture, to dwell, I found a gentle calm settling over me.  “If debarred from love, why not seek for happiness?” I said to myself.  “Moreover, I am loved, and the love offered me I shall accept.  My married life will be no slavery, but rather a perpetual reign.  What is there to say against such a situation for a woman who wishes to remain absolute mistress of herself?”

The important point of separating marriage from marital rights was settled in a conversation between Louis and me, in the course of which he gave proof of an excellent temper and a tender heart.  Darling, my desire was to prolong that fair season of hope which, never culminating in satisfaction, leaves to the soul its virginity.  To grant nothing to duty or the law, to be guided entirely by one’s own will, retaining perfect independence—­what could be more attractive, more honorable?