rances was characterised by a more lasting and sincere
affection than is usually associated with unions of this kind. There can
be no doubt that during the three years the Widow Gras was the mistress
of Georges de Saint Pierre, she had succeeded in subjugating entirely
the senses and the affection of her young lover. In spite of the twenty
years between them, Georges de Saint Pierre idolised his middle-aged
mistress. She was astute enough to play not only the lover, but the
mother to this motherless youth. After three years of intimacy he writes
to her: "It is enough for me that you love me, because I don't weary
you, and I, I love you with all my heart. I cannot bear to leave you.
We will live happily together. You will always love me truly, and as for
me, my loving care will ever protect you. I don't know what would become
of me if I did not feel that your love watched over me." The confidence
of Georges in the widow was absolute. When, in 1876, he spent six months
in Egypt, he made her free of his rooms in Paris, she was at liberty to
go there when she liked; he trusted her entirely, idolised her. Whatever
her faults, he was blind to them. "Your form," he writes, "is ever
before my eyes; I wish I could enshrine your pure heart in gold and
crystal."

The widow's conquest, to all appearances, was complete. But Georges was
very young. He had a family anxious for his future; they knew of his
liaison; they would be hopeful, no doubt, of one day breaking it off and
of marrying him to some desirable young person. From the widow's point
of view the situation lacked finality. How was that to be secured?

One day, toward the end of the year 1876, after the return of Georges
from Egypt, the widow happened to be at the house of a friend, a ballet
dancer. She saw her friend lead into the room a young man; he was
sightless, and her friend with tender care guided him to a seat on the
sofa. The widow was touched by the spectacle. When they were alone, she
inquired of her friend the reason of her solicitude for the young man.
"I love this victim of nature," she replied, "and look after him with
every care. He is young, rich, without family, and is going to marry
me. Like you, I am just on forty; my hair is turning grey, my youth
vanishing. I shall soon be cast adrift on the sea, a wreck. This boy is
the providential spar to which I am going to cling that I may reach land
in safety." "You mean, then," said the widow, "that you will so