returned as deputy.'

"'If I ever make up my mind to enter on a political career,'
replied I hypocritically, 'it would be to devote myself to the
Comte, which I love, and where I am appreciated.'

"'Well,' he said, 'we will persuade you, and through you we shall
have weight in the Chamber, for you will distinguish yourself
there.'

"And so, my beloved angel, say what you will, my perseverance will
be rewarded. Ere long I shall, from the high place of the French
Tribune, come before my country, before Europe. My name will be
flung to you by the hundred voices of the French press.

"Yes, as you tell me, I was old when I came to Besancon, and
Besancon has aged me more; but, like Sixtus V., I shall be young
again the day after my election. I shall enter on my true life, my
own sphere. Shall we not then stand in the same line? Count
Savaron de Savarus, Ambassador I know not where, may surely marry
a Princess Soderini, the widow of the Duc d'Argaiolo! Triumph
restores the youth of men who have been preserved by incessant
struggles. Oh, my Life! with what gladness did I fly from my
library to my private room, to tell your portrait of this progress
before writing to you! Yes, the votes I can command, those of the
Vicar-General, of the persons I can oblige, and of this client,
make my election already sure.

"26th.

"We have entered on the twelfth year since that blest evening
when, by a look, the beautiful Duchess sealed the promises made by
the exile Francesca. You, dear, are thirty-two, I am thirty-five;
the dear Duke is seventy-seven--that is to say, ten years more
than yours and mine put together, and he still keeps well! My
patience is almost as great as my love, and indeed I need a few
years yet to rise to the level of your name. As you see, I am in
good spirits to-day, I can laugh; that is the effect of hope.
Sadness or gladness, it all comes to me through you. The hope of
success always carries me back to the day following that one on
which I saw you for the first time, when my life became one with
yours as the earth turns to the light. _Qual pianto_ are these
eleven years, for this is the 26th of December, the anniversary of
my arrival at your villa on the Lake of Geneva. For eleven years
have I been crying to you, while you shine like a star set too
high for man to reach it.