that his interest was passing from the
flat, dead canvas of the absent husband to the breathing, beautiful
woman he was addressing. "A noble face; but one fact puzzles me.
Madam, pardon my candor. I cannot understand how your husband contents
himself to spend an obscure life in this out-of-the-way spot, when his
education, talents and fortune qualify him for a career so much more
ambitious and useful. I am at equal loss to conceive how a lady of
your distinguished birth, breeding and accomplishments could consent
to exchange the splendid opportunities of social life in lofty places
for the domestic quietude of a rural home, however luxurious. Things
cannot make us happy, human associations only can do that. Is it
possible that you are satisfied with your present limited sphere?"

"No," she replied, speaking low, "nor is he." She glanced at the
portrait. "We have had quite enough of this self-banishment. We grow
discontented and would gladly dispose of the estate."

"Madam, you are not unacquainted with the world. You derive your blood
from a noble source. The granddaughter of General Agnew inherits all
advantages that women covet--rank, wealth, culture, beauty--and you
have a husband who appreciates you." When in the enumeration of her
endowments Burr pronounced the word beauty, the lady's eyelids drooped
and a perceptible constraint came over both the woman and the man--he
not feeling sure he had chosen a safe approach to her favor--she in
doubt whether to invite or to repulse further personal compliment. It
entered his consciousness that she might become part of his political
plan--might somehow abet his magnificent purposes. In the pause which
succeeded his appeal to her self-love and ambition she once more
scanned the mild, meditative countenance beaming from the pictured
canvas.

A mesmeric influence drew her eyes from the portrait to encounter
those of Aaron Burr, regarding her with a gentle look of wistful
melancholy. The color deepened in her cheeks, and her bosom labored
with an inaudible sigh.

"Ah, madam, you should give your husband back to the world of great
actions suited to one in whose veins runs the blood of a king. How I
wish he were here that I might tell him so in your presence. Give him
my profound regrets. We have tarried too long."

Madam Blennerhassett never forgot this _tete-a-tete_ with Burr; but
an inexplicable qualm kept her from mentioning it to her belated lord
on his return from Farm