I have heard from Renee, madame, of your kind thought in regard to us, and I take this opportunity of thanking you for it, the more gladly because nothing could now be more appropriate.  The birth of a grandson has reconciled my father to sacrifices which bear hardly on an old man.  He has just bought two estates, and La Crampade is now a property with an annual rental of thirty thousand francs.  My father intends asking the King’s permission to form an entailed estate of it; and if you are good enough to get for him the title of which you spoke in your last letter, you will have already done much for your godson.

For my part, I shall carry out your suggestions solely with the object of bringing you and Renee together during the sessions of the Chamber.  I am working hard with the view of becoming what is called a specialist.  But nothing could give me greater encouragement in my labors than the thought that you will take an interest in my little Armand.  Come, then, we beg of you, and with your beauty and your grace, your playful fancy and your noble soul, enact the part of good fairy to my son and heir.  You will thus, madame, add undying gratitude to the respectful regard of Your very humble, obedient servant, LOUIS DE L’ESTORADE.

XXX

LOUISE DE MACUMER TO RENEE DE L’ESTORADE
January 1826.

Macumer has just wakened me, darling, with your husband’s letter.  First and foremost—­Yes.  We shall be going to Chantepleurs about the end of April.  To me it will be a piling up of pleasure to travel, to see you, and to be the godmother of your first child.  I must, please, have Macumer for godfather.  To take part in a ceremony of the Church with another as my partner would be hateful to me.  Ah! if you could see the look he gave me as I said this, you would know what store this sweetest of lovers sets on his wife!

“I am the more bent on our visiting La Crampade together, Felipe,” I went on, “because I might have a child there.  I too, you know, would be a mother! . . .  And yet, can you fancy me torn in two between you and the infant?  To begin with, if I saw any creature—­were it even my own son—­taking my place in your heart, I couldn’t answer for the consequences.  Medea may have been right after all.  The Greeks had some good notions!”

And he laughed.

So, my sweetheart, you have the fruit without the flowers; I the flowers without the fruit.  The contrast in our lives still holds good.  Between the two of us we have surely enough philosophy to find the moral of it some day.  Bah! only ten months married!  Too soon, you will admit, to give up hope.

We are leading a gay, yet far from empty life, as is the way with happy people.  The days are never long enough for us.  Society, seeing me in the trappings of a married woman, pronounces the Baronne de Macumer much prettier than Louise de Chaulieu:  a happy love is a most becoming cosmetic.  When Felipe and I drive along the Champs-Elysees in the bright sunshine of a crisp January day, beneath the trees, frosted with clusters of white stars, and face all Paris on the spot where last year we met with a gulf between us, the contrast calls up a thousand fancies.  Suppose, after all, your last letter should be right in its forecast, and we are too presumptuous!