eturn
to Clochegourde, and it was equally repugnant to me to go to Frapesle,
where I could see my Henriette's windows. Here, at Sache, I was near
her. I lived for some days in a room which looked on the tranquil,
solitary valley I have mentioned to you. It is a deep recess among the
hills, bordered by oaks that are doubly centenarian, through which a
torrent rushes after rain. The scene was in keeping with the stern and
solemn meditations to which I desired to abandon myself.

I had perceived, during the day which followed the fatal night, how
unwelcome my presence might be at Clochegourde. The count had gone
through violent emotions at the death of his wife; but he had expected
the event; his mind was made up to it in a way that was something like
indifference. I had noticed this several times, and when the countess
gave me that letter (which I still dared not read) and when she spoke
of her affection for me, I remarked that the count, usually so quick
to take offence, made no sign of feeling any. He attributed Henriette's
wording to the extreme sensitiveness of a conscience which he knew to be
pure. This selfish insensibility was natural to him. The souls of these
two beings were no more married than their bodies; they had never
had the intimate communion which keeps feeling alive; they had shared
neither pains nor pleasures, those strong links which tear us by a
thousand edges when broken, because they touch on all our fibers, and
are fastened to the inmost recesses of our hearts.

Another consideration forbade my return to Clochegourde,--Madeleine's
hostility. That hard young girl was not disposed to modify her hatred
beside her mother's coffin. Between the count, who would have talked to
me incessantly of himself, and the new mistress of the house, who would
have shown me invincible dislike, I should have found myself horribly
annoyed. To be treated thus where once the very flowers welcomed me,
where the steps of the portico had a voice, where my memory clothed with
poetry the balconies, the fountains, the balustrades, the trees, the
glimpses of the valleys! to be hated where I once was loved--the thought
was intolerable to me. So, from the first, my mind was made up.

Alas! alas! was this the end of the keenest love that ever entered
the heart of man? To the eyes of strangers my conduct might be
reprehensible, but it had the sanction of my own conscience. It is thus
that the noblest feelings, the sublimest drama