the way in which people afflicted in this manner were
neglected. On that occasion you said, 'If you were to become mad I
should take care of you!' I have never forgotten those words, or your
look and expression. I am just the same now as I was in July, 1832. It
is because of those words that I claim you to-day, for I am nearly mad
with happiness."[*]

[*] "Correspondance," vol. ii. p. 448.

In another part of the letter he tells her: "Ah! I never forget your
maternal love, your divine sympathy with suffering. Therefore,
thinking of all you are worth, and of the way in which you are
struggling with trouble, I, who have so often waged war with that
rough adversary, tell you that, knowing your unhappiness, I am ashamed
of _my_ happiness; but we are both too great for these littlenesses.
We can say to each other that happiness and unhappiness are only
conditions in which great hearts live intensely, that as much strength
of mind is required in one position as in the other, and that
misfortune with true friends is perhaps more endurable than happiness
surrounded by envy."

Balzac was not, after all, destined to start on his journey homeward
as quickly as he had intended. His health was terribly bad, his eyes
had become so weak that he could neither read nor write, and the
chronic heart and lung malady was gaining ground so rapidly, that his
breathing was affected if he made the slightest movement. It was
absolutely necessary that he should rest for a time at Wierzchownia
before attempting any further exertion. Another delay was caused by
the young Countess being attacked by measles. Her devoted mother, who
in her crippled state could not attempt any active nursing, sat by her
daughter's bedside all day, and refused to leave Wierzchownia till her
anxiety about her darling's health should be over.

It was, therefore, not till the end of April that M. and Madame Honore
de Balzac started for what proved to be a terrible journey. They did
not arrive in Dresden till about May 10th, having taken three weeks to
go to a distance which ought naturally to have been accomplished in
five or six days. The roads were in a fearful condition, and their
lives were in danger not once, but a hundred times a day. Sometimes
fifteen or sixteen men were required to hoist the carriage out of the
mud-holes into which it had fallen. It is a wonder that Balzac
survived the torture of the journey, and it must have been very trying
to the rheumatic