hwoman recognized her rival, and was gloriously English; she gave
us a look full of insular contempt, and disappeared in the underbrush
with the rapidity of an arrow.

"Drive on quickly to Clochegourde," cried the countess, to whom that
cutting look was like the blow of an axe upon her heart.

The coachman turned to get upon the road to Chinon which was better than
that to Sache. As the carriage again approached the moor we heard the
furious galloping of Arabella's horse and the steps of her dog. All
three were skirting the wood behind the bushes.

"She is going; you will lose her forever," said Henriette.

"Let her go," I answered, "and without a regret."

"Oh, poor woman!" cried the countess, with a sort of compassionate
horror. "Where will she go?"

"Back to La Grenadiere,--a little house near Saint-Cyr," I said, "where
she is staying."

Just as we were entering the avenue of Clochegourde Arabella's dog
barked joyfully and bounded up to the carriage.

"She is here before us!" cried the countess; then after a pause she
added, "I have never seen a more beautiful woman. What a hand and what
a figure! Her complexion outdoes the lily, her eyes are literally bright
as diamonds. But she rides too well; she loves to display her strength;
I think her violent and too active,--also too bold for our conventions.
The woman who recognizes no law is apt to listen only to her caprices.
Those who seek to shine, to make a stir, have not the gift of constancy.
Love needs tranquillity; I picture it to myself like a vast lake in
which the lead can find no bottom; where tempests may be violent, but
are rare and controlled within certain limits; where two beings live on
a flowery isle far from the world whose luxury and display offend them.
Still, love must take the imprint of the character. Perhaps I am wrong.
If nature's elements are compelled to take certain forms determined by
climate, why is it not the same with the feelings of individuals? No
doubt sentiments, feelings, which hold to the general law in the mass,
differ in expression only. Each soul has its own method. Lady Dudley is
the strong woman who can traverse distances and act with the vigor of a
man; she would rescue her lover and kill jailers and guards; while other
women can only love with their whole souls; in moments of danger they
kneel down to pray, and die. Which of the two women suits you best? That
is the question. Yes, yes, Lady Dudley must surely love; she