shall make you a mother, that I may see you content with the
fulness of your life, may hear you, in the sweet voice I love and
with the thoughts, bless the love which has refreshed my soul and
given new vigor to my powers, the love which is my pride, and
whence I have drawn, as from a magic fountain, fresh life. Yes, I
shall be all that you would have me. I shall take a leading part
in the public life of the district, and on you shall fall the rays
of a glory which will owe its existence to the desire of pleasing
you."

So much for my pupil, dear! Do you suppose he could have written like
this before? A year hence his style will have still further improved.
Louis is now in his first transport; what I look forward to is the
uniform and continuous sensation of content which ought to be the fruit
of a happy marriage, when a man and woman, in perfect trust and mutual
knowledge, have solved the problem of giving variety to the infinite.
This is the task set before every true wife; the answer begins to dawn
on me, and I shall not rest till I have made it mine.

You see that he fancies himself--vanity of men!--the chosen of my heart,
just as though there were no legal bonds. Nevertheless, I have not yet
got beyond that external attraction which gives us strength to put up
with a good deal. Yet Louis is lovable; his temper is wonderfully even,
and he performs, as a matter of course, acts on which most men would
plume themselves. In short, if I do not love him, I shall find no
difficulty in being good to him.

So here are my black hair and my black eyes--whose lashes act, according
to you, like Venetian blinds--my commanding air, and my whole person,
raised to the rank of sovereign power! Ten years hence, dear, why should
we not both be laughing and gay in your Paris, whence I shall carry you
off now and again to my beautiful oasis in Provence?

Oh! Louise, don't spoil the splendid future which awaits us both! Don't
do the mad things with which you threaten me. My husband is a young man,
prematurely old; why don't you marry some young-hearted graybeard in the
Chamber of Peers? There lies your vocation.

XIV. THE DUC DE SORIA TO THE BARON DE MACUMER MADRID.

MY DEAR BROTHER,--You did not make me Duc de Soria in order that my
actions should belie the name. How could I tolerate my happiness if
I knew you to be a wanderer, deprived of the comforts which wealth
everywhere commands? Neither Marie nor I wi