plained of his wife, of the servants, of
the children, of life, evidently pleased to repeat his daily speeches to
a friend who, not having heard them daily, might be alarmed, and who
at any rate was forced to listen out of politeness. He must have been
satisfied, for I paid him the utmost attention, trying to penetrate
his inconceivable nature, and to guess what new tortures he had been
inflicting on his wife, of which she had not written to me. Henriette
presently put an end to the monologue by appearing in the portico. The
count saw her, shook his head, and said to me: "You listen to me, Felix;
but here no one pities me."

He went away, as if aware of the constraint he imposed on my intercourse
with Henriette, or perhaps from a really chivalrous consideration
for her, knowing he could give her pleasure by leaving us alone. His
character exhibited contradictions that were often inexplicable; he was
jealous, like all weak beings, but his confidence in his wife's sanctity
was boundless. It may have been the sufferings of his own self-esteem,
wounded by the superiority of that lofty virtue, which made him so eager
to oppose every wish of the poor woman, whom he braved as children brave
their masters or their mothers.

Jacques was taking his lessons, and Madeleine was being dressed; I had
therefore a whole hour to walk with the countess alone on the terrace.

"Dear angel!" I said, "the chains are heavier, the sands hotter, the
thorns grow apace."

"Hush!" she said, guessing the thoughts my conversation with the count
had suggested. "You are here, and all is forgotten! I don't suffer; I
have never suffered."

She made a few light steps as if to shake her dress and give to the
breeze its ruches of snowy tulle, its floating sleeves and fresh
ribbons, the laces of her pelerine, and the flowing curls of her
coiffure a la Sevigne; I saw her for the first time a young girl,--gay
with her natural gaiety, ready to frolic like a child. I knew then the
meaning of tears of happiness; I knew the joy a man feels in bringing
happiness to another.

"Sweet human flower, wooed by my thought, kissed by my soul, oh my
lily!" I cried, "untouched, untouchable upon thy stem, white, proud,
fragrant, and solitary--"

"Enough, enough," she said, smiling. "Speak to me of yourself; tell me
everything."

Then, beneath the swaying arch of quivering leaves, we had a long
conversation, filled with interminable parentheses, subjects taken,
drop