Nay—­to conclude in all seriousness—­I will not conceal from you that, on reading your letter a second time, I was seized with a dread which I could not shake off.  This superb love seems like a challenge to Providence.  Will not the sovereign master of this earth, Calamity, take umbrage if no place be left for him at your feast?  What mighty edifice of fortune has he not overthrown?  Oh!  Louise, forget not, in all this happiness, your prayers to God.  Do good, be kind and merciful; let your moderation, if it may be, avert disaster.  Religion has meant much more to me since I left the convent and since my marriage; but your Paris news contains no mention of it.  In your glorification of Felipe it seems to me you reverse the saying, and invoke God less than His saint.

But, after all, this panic is only excess of affection.  You go to church together, I do not doubt, and do good in secret.  The close of this letter will seem to you very primitive, I expect, but think of the too eager friendship which prompts these fears—­a friendship of the type of La Fontaine’s, which takes alarms at dreams, at half-formed, misty ideas.  You deserve to be happy, since, through it all, you still think of me, no less than I think of you, in my monotonous life, which, though it lacks color, is yet not empty, and, if uneventful, is not unfruitful.  God bless you, then!

XXIX

M. DE L’ESTORADE TO THE BARONNE DE MACUMER
December 1825.

Madame,—­It is the desire of my wife that you should not learn first from the formal announcement of an event which has filled us with joy.  Renee has just given birth to a fine boy, whose baptism we are postponing till your return to Chantepleurs.  Renee and I both earnestly hope that you may then come as far as La Crampade, and will consent to act as godmother to our firstborn.  In this hope, I have had him placed on the register under the name of Armand-Louis de l’Estorade.

Our dear Renee suffered much, but bore it with angelic patience.  You, who know her, will easily understand that the assurance of bringing happiness to us all supported her through this trying apprenticeship to motherhood.

Without indulging in the more or less ludicrous exaggerations to which the novel sensation of being a father is apt to give rise, I may tell you that little Armand is a beautiful infant, and you will have no difficulty in believing it when I add that he has Renee’s features and eyes.  So far, at least, this gives proof of intelligence.

The physician and accoucheur assure us that Renee is now quite out of danger; and as she is proving an admirable nurse—­Nature has endowed her so generously!—­my father and I are able to give free rein to our joy.  Madame, may I be allowed to express the hope that this joy, so vivid and intense, which has brought fresh life into our house, and has changed the face of existence for my dear wife, may ere long be yours?

Renee has had a suite of rooms prepared, and I only wish I could make them worthy of our guests.  But the cordial friendliness of the reception which awaits you may perhaps atone for any lack of splendor.