a close, I prayed God to send you among
us for a day, that you might see what family life really is, and learn
the nature of those joys, which are lasting and sweeter than tongue can
tell, because they are genuine, simple, and natural. But, alas! what
chance have I with the best of arguments against a fallacy which makes
you happy? As I write these words, my eyes fill with tears. I had felt
so sure that some months of honeymoon would prove a surfeit and restore
you to reason. But I see that there is no limit to your appetite, and
that, having killed a man who loved you, you will not cease till you
have killed love itself. Farewell, dear misguided friend. I am in
despair that the letter which I hoped might reconcile you to society by
its picture of my happiness should have brought forth only a paean of
selfishness. Yes, your love is selfish; you love Gaston far less for
himself than for what he is to you.

LIV. MME. GASTON TO THE COMTESSE DE L'ESTORADE May 20th.

Renee, calamity has come--no, that is no word for it--it has burst like
a thunderbolt over your poor Louise. You know what that means; calamity
for me is doubt; certainty would be death.

The day before yesterday, when I had finished my first toilet, I looked
everywhere for Gaston to take a little turn with me before lunch, but
in vain. I went to the stable, and there I saw his mare all in a lather,
while the groom was removing the foam with a knife before rubbing her
down.

"Who in the world has put Fedelta in such a state?" I asked.

"Master," replied the lad.

I saw the mud of Paris on the mare's legs, for country mud is quite
different; and at once it flashed through me, "He has been to Paris."

This thought raised a swarm of others in my heart, and it seemed as
though all the life in my body rushed there. To go to Paris without
telling me, at the hour when I leave him alone, to hasten there and back
at such speed as to distress Fedelta. Suspicion clutched me in its iron
grip, till I could hardly breathe. I walked aside a few steps to a seat,
where I tried to recover my self-command.

Here Gaston found me, apparently pale and fluttered, for he immediately
exclaimed, "What is wrong?" in a tone of such alarm, that I rose and
took his arm. But my muscles refused to move, and I was forced to sit
down again. Then he took me in his arms and carried me to the parlor
close by, where the frightened servants pressed after us, till Gaston
motioned them