to everybody's satisfaction. To complete our success, the Prince de
Talleyrand, out of affection for my grandmother, is showing himself a
warm friend to Macumer. Society, which began by criticising me, has now
passed to cordial admiration.

In short, I now reign a queen where, barely two years ago, I was an
insignificant item. Macumer finds himself the object of universal envy,
as the husband of "the most charming woman in Paris." At least a score
of women, as you know, are always in that proud position. Men murmur
sweet things in my ear, or content themselves with greedy glances. This
chorus of longing and admiration is so soothing to one's vanity, that I
confess I begin to understand the unconscionable price women are ready
to pay for such frail and precarious privileges. A triumph of this kind
is like strong wine to vanity, self-love, and all the self-regarding
feelings. To pose perpetually as a divinity is a draught so potent in
its intoxicating effects, that I am no longer surprised to see women
grow selfish, callous, and frivolous in the heart of this adoration. The
fumes of society mount to the head. You lavish the wealth of your soul
and spirit, the treasures of your time, the noblest efforts of your
will, upon a crowd of people who repay you in smiles and jealousy. The
false coin of their pretty speeches, compliments, and flattery is the
only return they give for the solid gold of your courage and sacrifices,
and all the thought that must go to keep up without flagging the
standard of beauty, dress, sparkling talk, and general affability. You
are perfectly aware how much it costs, and that the whole thing is a
fraud, but you cannot keep out of the vortex.

Ah! my sweetheart, how one craves for a real friend! How precious to me
are the love and devotion of Felipe, and how my heart goes out to you!
Joyfully indeed are we preparing for our move to Chantepleurs, where
we can rest from the comedy of the Rue de Bac and of the Paris
drawing-rooms. Having just read your letter again, I feel that I cannot
better describe this demoniac paradise than by saying that no woman of
fashion in Paris can possibly be a good mother.

Good-bye, then, for a short time, dear one. We shall stay at
Chantepleurs only a week at most, and shall be with you about May 10th.
So we are actually to meet again after more than two years! What changes
since then! Here we are, both matrons, both in our promised land--I of
love, you of motherho