iveliness and her turn
for luxury. Only the Philistines breed these choice beauties, put forth
these delicate fresh young buds of girls; and only here and there among
them is there an exquisite, eccentric, yet passably decorous Clotilde.
What his brother politicians never discovered in him, and the baroness
partly suspected, through her interpretation of things opposing her
sentiments, Clotilde uncloaks. Catching and mastering her, his wilder
animation may be appeased, but his political life is threatened with a
diversion of its current, for he will be uxorious, impassioned to gratify
the tastes and whims of a youthful wife; the Republican will be in danger
of playing prematurely for power to seat her beside him high: while at
the same time, children, perchance, and his hardening lawyer's head are
secretly Philistinizing the demagogue, blunting the fine edge of his
Radicalism, turning him into a slow-stepping Liberal, otherwise your
half-Conservative in his convictions. Can she think it much to have
married that drab-coloured unit? Power must be grasped . . . .

His watch told him that Tresten was now beholding her, or just about to.
The stillness of the heavens was remarkable. The hour held breath. She
delayed her descent from her chamber. He saw how she touched at her hair,
more distinctly than he saw the lake before his eyes. He watched her, and
the growl of a coming roar from him rebuked her tricky deliberateness.
Deciding at last, she slips down the stairs like a waterfall, and is in
the room, erect, composed--if you do not lay ear against her bosom.
Tresten stares at her, owns she is worth a struggle. Love does this,
friend Tresten! Love, that stamps out prejudice and bids inequality be
smooth. Tresten stares and owns she is worth heavier labours, worse than
his friend has endured. Love does it! Love, that hallows a stranger's
claim to the flower of a proud garden: Love has won her the freedom to
suffer herself to be chosen by the stranger. What matters which of them
toiled to bring them to so sweet an end! It was not either of them, but
Love. By and by, after acting serenest innocent, suddenly broken, she
will be copious of sad confessions. That will be in their secresy: in the
close and boundless together of clasped hands. Deep eyes, that give him
in realms of light within light all that he has dreamed of rapturousness
and blessedness, you are threatened with a blinding kiss if you look
abashed:--if her voice sha