and with the thoughts, bless the love which has refreshed my soul and given new vigor to my powers, the love which is my pride, and whence I have drawn, as from a magic fountain, fresh life.  Yes, I shall be all that you would have me.  I shall take a leading part in the public life of the district, and on you shall fall the rays of a glory which will owe its existence to the desire of pleasing you.”

So much for my pupil, dear!  Do you suppose he could have written like this before?  A year hence his style will have still further improved.  Louis is now in his first transport; what I look forward to is the uniform and continuous sensation of content which ought to be the fruit of a happy marriage, when a man and woman, in perfect trust and mutual knowledge, have solved the problem of giving variety to the infinite.  This is the task set before every true wife; the answer begins to dawn on me, and I shall not rest till I have made it mine.

You see that he fancies himself—­vanity of men!—­the chosen of my heart, just as though there were no legal bonds.  Nevertheless, I have not yet got beyond that external attraction which gives us strength to put up with a good deal.  Yet Louis is lovable; his temper is wonderfully even, and he performs, as a matter of course, acts on which most men would plume themselves.  In short, if I do not love him, I shall find no difficulty in being good to him.

So here are my black hair and my black eyes—­whose lashes act, according to you, like Venetian blinds—­my commanding air, and my whole person, raised to the rank of sovereign power!  Ten years hence, dear, why should we not both be laughing and gay in your Paris, whence I shall carry you off now and again to my beautiful oasis in Provence?

Oh!  Louise, don’t spoil the splendid future which awaits us both!  Don’t do the mad things with which you threaten me.  My husband is a young man, prematurely old; why don’t you marry some young-hearted graybeard in the Chamber of Peers?  There lies your vocation.

XIV

THE DUC DE SORIA TO THE BARON DE MACUMER
MADRID.

MY DEAR BROTHER,—­You did not make me Duc de Soria in order that my actions should belie the name.  How could I tolerate my happiness if I knew you to be a wanderer, deprived of the comforts which wealth everywhere commands?  Neither Marie nor I will consent to marry till we hear that you have accepted the money which Urraca will hand over to you.  These two millions are the fruit of your own savings and Marie’s.

We have both prayed, kneeling before the same altar—­and with what earnestness, God knows!—­for your happiness.  My dear brother, it cannot be that these prayers will remain unanswered.  Heaven will send you the love which you seek, to be the consolation of your exile.  Marie read your letter with tears, and is full of admiration for you.  As for me, I consent, not for my own sake, but for that of the family.  The King justified your expectations.  Oh! that I might avenge you by letting him see himself, dwarfed before the scorn with which you flung him his toy, as you might toss a tiger its food.