in any man's heart
is flattery without hypocrisy, and it is impossible for some women to
forego it; but when that man belongs to a friend, his homage gives more
than pleasure,--it gives delight. Beatrix sat down beside her friend and
began to coax her prettily.

"You have not a white hair," she said; "you haven't even a wrinkle; your
temples are just as fresh as ever; whereas I know more than one woman of
thirty who is obliged to cover hers. Look, dear," she added, lifting her
curls, "see what that journey to Italy has cost me."

Her temples showed an almost imperceptible withering of the texture of
the delicate skin. She raised her sleeves and showed Camille the same
slight withering of the wrists, where the transparent tissue suffered
the blue network of swollen veins to be visible, and three deep lines
made a bracelet of wrinkles.

"There, my dear, are two spots which--as a certain writer ferreting for
the miseries of women, has said--never lie," she continued. "One must
needs have suffered to know the truth of his observation. Happily
for us, most men know nothing about it; they don't read us like that
dreadful author."

"Your letter told me all," replied Camille; "happiness ignores
everything but itself. You boasted too much of yours to be really happy.
Truth is deaf, dumb, and blind where love really is. Consequently,
seeing very plainly that you have your reasons for abandoning Conti,
I have feared to have you here. My dear, Calyste is an angel; he is as
good as he is beautiful; his innocent heart will not resist your
eyes; already he admires you too much not to love you at the first
encouragement; your coldness can alone preserve him to me. I confess to
you, with the cowardice of true passion, that if he were taken from me I
should die. That dreadful book of Benjamin Constant, 'Adolphe,' tells us
only of Adolphe's sorrows; but what about those of the woman, hey? The
man did not observe them enough to describe them; and what woman would
have dared to reveal them? They would dishonor her sex, humiliate its
virtues, and pass into vice. Ah! I measure the abyss before me by my
fears, by these sufferings that are those of hell. But, Beatrix, I will
tell you this: in case I am abandoned, my choice is made."

"What is it?" cried Beatrix, with an eagerness that made Camille
shudder.

The two friends looked at each other with the keen attention of Venetian
inquisitors; their souls clashed in that rapid glance, and