nt of happiness. I
should, therefore, have endeavored to win you, prompted by that
social sentiment which has in all ages made wealth a religion. At
least, I think I should. It is not to be expected of a man still
young that he can have the wisdom to substitute sound sense for
the pleasure of the senses; within sight of a prey the brutal
instincts hidden in the heart of man drive him on. Instead of that
lesson, I should have sent you compliments and flatteries. Should
I have kept my own esteem in so doing? I doubt it. Mademoiselle,
in such a case success brings absolution; but happiness? That is
another thing. Should I have distrusted my wife had I won her in
that way? Most assuredly I should. Your advance on me would sooner
or later have come between us. Your husband, however grand your
fancy may make him, would have ended by reproaching you for having
abased him. You, yourself, might have come, sooner or later, to
despise him. The strong man forgives, but the poet whines. Such,
mademoiselle, is the answer which my honesty compels me to make to
you.

And now, listen to me. You have the triumph of forcing me to
reflect deeply,--first on you, whom I do not sufficiently know;
next, on myself, of whom I knew too little. You have had the power
to stir up many of the evil thoughts which crouched in my heart,
as in all hearts; but from them something good and generous has
come forth, and I salute you with my most fervent benedictions,
just as at sea we salute the lighthouse which shows the rocks on
which we were about to perish. Here is my confession, for I would
not lose your esteem nor my own for all the treasures of earth.

I wished to know who you are. I have just returned from Havre,
where I saw Francoise Cochet, and followed her to Ingouville. You
are as beautiful as the woman of a poet's dream; but I do not know
if you are Mademoiselle Vilquin concealed under Mademoiselle
d'Herouville, or Mademoiselle d'Herouville hidden under
Mademoiselle Vilquin. Though all is fair in war, I blushed at such
spying and stopped short in my inquiries. You have roused my
curiosity; forgive me for being somewhat of a woman; it is, I
believe, the privilege of a poet.

Now that I have laid bare my heart and allowed you to read it, you
will believe in the sincerity of what I am about to add. Though
the glimpse I had of you was all too rapid, it has sufficed to