ad my prayers without paying any attention
to her, but she fastened her eyes upon me in such a peculiar way that I,
in my turn, felt compelled to look up at her, and was startled by the
alteration of her face; suddenly she tottered and fell fainting on
Madame Taverneau's shoulder. She was taken out of the church, and the
fresh air soon restored her to consciousness. She seemed agitated when
she saw me near her, but the interest I showed in her sickness seemed to
reassure her; she gracefully thanked me for my kind attention, and then
looked at me in a way that was very embarrassing. I invited her to
return with me to Madame Taverneau's and rest herself; she accepted the
offer, and Madame Taverneau carried her off with great pomp. There
Madame de Meilhan explained how she had walked alone from Richeport in
spite of the excessive heat, at the risk of making herself ill, because
her son had taken the coachman and horses and left home suddenly that
morning without saying where he was going. As she said this she looked
at me significantly. I bore these questioning looks with proud
calmness. I must tell you that the evening before, M de Meilhan had
called on me during the absence of Madame Taverneau and her husband. The
danger of the situation inspired me. I treated him with such coldness, I
reached a degree of dignity so magnificent that the great poet finally
comprehended there are some glaciers inaccessible, even to him. He left
me, furious and disconsolate, but I do him the justice to say that he
was more disconsolate than furious. This real sorrow made me think
deeply. If he loved me seriously, how culpable was my conduct! I had
been too coquettish towards him; he could not know that this coquetry
was only a ruse; that while appearing to be so devoted to him my whole
mind was filled with another. Sincere love should always be respected;
one is not compelled to share it, but then one has no right to insult
it.

The uneasiness of Madame de Meilhan; her conduct towards me--for I was
certain she had purposely come late to mass and taken a seat by me for
the purpose of speaking to me and finding out what sort of a person I
was--the uneasiness of this devoted mother was to me a language more
convincing of the sincerity of her son's sentiments than all the
protestations of love he could have uttered in years. A mother's anxiety
is an unmistakable symptom; it is more significant than all others. The
jealousy of a rival is not so