conscience had already forgiven himself
     No flies enter a closed mouth
     Not an excuse, but an explanation of your conduct
     One of those trustful men who did not judge when they loved
     Only one thing infamous in love, and that is a falsehood
     Pitiful checker-board of life
     Scarcely a shade of gentle condescension
     Sufficed him to conceive the plan of a reparation
     That suffering which curses but does not pardon
     That you can aid them in leading better lives? 
     The forests have taught man liberty
     There is an intelligent man, who never questions his ideas
     There is always and everywhere a duty to fulfil
     Thinking it better not to lie on minor points
     Too prudent to risk or gain much
     Walked at the rapid pace characteristic of monomaniacs
     Words are nothing; it is the tone in which they are uttered

JACQUELINE

By Therese Bentzon (Mme. Blanc)

With a Preface by M. THUREAU-DANGIN, of the French Academy

TH.  BENTZON

It is natural that the attention and affection of Americans should be attracted to a woman who has devoted herself assiduously to understanding and to making known the aspirations of our country, especially in introducing the labors and achievements of our women to their sisters in France, of whom we also have much to learn; for simple, homely virtues and the charm of womanliness may still be studied with advantage on the cherished soil of France.

Marie-Therese Blanc, nee Solms—­for this is the name of the author who writes under the nom de plume of Madame Bentzon—­is considered the greatest of living French female novelists.  She was born in an old French chateau at Seine-Porte (Seine et Oise), September 21, 1840.  This chateau was owned by Madame Bentzon’s grandmother, the Marquise de Vitry, who was a woman of great force and energy of character, “a ministering angel” to her country neighborhood.  Her grandmother’s first marriage was to a Dane, Major-General Adrien-Benjamin de Bentzon, a Governor of the Danish Antilles.  By this marriage there was one daughter, the mother of Therese, who in turn married the Comte de Solms.  “This mixture of races,” Madame Blanc once wrote, “surely explains a kind of moral and intellectual cosmopolitanism which is found in my nature.  My father of German descent, my mother of Danish—­my nom de plume (which was her maiden-name) is Danish—­with Protestant ancestors on her side, though she and I were Catholics—­my grandmother a sound and witty Parisian, gay, brilliant, lively, with superb physical health and the consequent good spirits—­surely these materials could not have produced other than a cosmopolitan being.”