in high spirits; she would
never admit that she was not perfectly well, and anticipated questions
as to her health by shame-stricken subterfuges.

In 1817, however, an event took place which did much to alleviate
Julie's hitherto deplorable existence. A daughter was born to her, and
she determined to nurse her child herself. For two years motherhood,
its all-absorbing multiplicity of cares and anxious joys, made life
less hard for her. She and her husband lived necessarily apart. Her
physicians predicted improved health, but the Marquise herself put no
faith in these auguries based on theory. Perhaps, like many a one for
whom life has lost its sweetness, she looked forward to death as a happy
termination of the drama.

But with the beginning of the year 1819 life grew harder than ever. Even
while she congratulated herself upon the negative happiness which she
had contrived to win, she caught a terrifying glimpse of yawning depths
below it. She had passed by degrees out of her husband's life. Her fine
tact and her prudence told her that misfortune must come, and that not
singly, of this cooling of an affection already lukewarm and wholly
selfish. Sure though she was of her ascendency over Victor, and certain
as she felt of his unalterable esteem, she dreaded the influence of
unbridled passions upon a head so empty, so full of rash self-conceit.

Julie's friends often found her absorbed in prolonged musings; the less
clairvoyant among them would jestingly ask her what she was thinking
about, as if a young wife would think of nothing but frivolity, as
if there were not almost always a depth of seriousness in a mother's
thoughts. Unhappiness, like great happiness, induces dreaming. Sometimes
as Julie played with her little Helene, she would gaze darkly at her,
giving no reply to the childish questions in which a mother delights,
questioning the present and the future as to the destiny of this little
one. Then some sudden recollection would bring back the scene of the
review at the Tuileries and fill her eyes with tears. Her father's
prophetic warnings rang in her ears, and conscience reproached her that
she had not recognized its wisdom. Her troubles had all come of her
own wayward folly, and often she knew not which among so many were the
hardest to bear. The sweet treasures of her soul were unheeded, and not
only so, she could never succeed in making her husband understand
her, even in the commonest everyday things. Ju