exile have given him
that calm and dignified air which goes half-way, in my opinion, to
make a politician. For the whole art of politics, dear, seems to me to
consist in looking serious. At this rate, Macumer, as I told him, ought
certainly to have a high position in the state.

And so, having completely satisfied myself of your happiness, I fly off
contented to my dear Chantepleurs, where Felipe must really achieve his
aspirations. I have made up my mind not to receive you there without a
fine baby at my breast to match yours.

Oh! I know very well I deserve all the epithets you can hurl at me. I am
a fool, a wretch, an idiot. Alas! that is just what jealousy means. I
am not vexed with you, but I was miserable, and you will forgive me
for escaping from my misery. Two days more, and I should have made
an exhibition of myself; yes, there would have been an outbreak of
vulgarity.

But in spite of the rage gnawing at my heart, I am glad to have come,
glad to have seen you in the pride of your beautiful motherhood, my
friend still, as I remain yours in all the absorption of my love. Why,
even here at Marseilles, only a step from your door, I begin to feel
proud of you and of the splendid mother that you will make.

How well you judged your vocation! You seem to me born for the part of
mother rather than of lover, exactly as the reverse is true of me. There
are women capable of neither, hard-favored or silly women. A good mother
and a passionately loving wife have this in common, that they both need
intelligence and discretion ever at hand, and an unfailing command of
every womanly art and grace. Oh! I watched you well; need I add, sly
puss, that I admired you too! Your children will be happy, but not
spoilt, with your tenderness lapping them round and the clear light of
your reason playing softly on them.

Tell Louis the truth about my going away, but find some decent
excuse for your father-in-law, who seems to act as steward for the
establishment; and be careful to do the same for your family--a true
Provencal version of the Harlowe family. Felipe does not know why I
left, and he will never know. If he asks, I shall contrive to find some
colorable pretext, probably that you were jealous of me! Forgive me this
little conventional fib.

Good-bye. I write in haste, as I want you to get this at lunch-time;
and the postilion, who has undertaken to convey it to you, is here,
refreshing himself while he waits.

Many kis