; do
not deceive me, it would be a crime. Tell me, do you wish for your
liberty? Have you thought of all that a man's life means? Is there
any regret in your mind? That _I_ should cause you a regret! I
should die of it. I have said it: I love you enough to set your
happiness above mine, your life before my own. Leave on one side,
if you can, the wealth of memories of our nine years' happiness,
that they may not influence your decision, but speak! I submit
myself to you as to God, the one Consoler who remains if you
forsake me."

When Mme. de Beauseant knew that her letter was in M. de Nueil's hands,
she sank in such utter prostration, the over-pressure of many thoughts
so numbed her faculties, that she seemed almost drowsy. At any rate, she
was suffering from a pain not always proportioned in its intensity to
a woman's strength; pain which women alone know. And while the unhappy
Marquise awaited her doom, M. de Nueil, reading her letter, felt that he
was "in a very difficult position," to use the expression that young men
apply to a crisis of this kind.

By this time he had all but yielded to his mother's importunities and
to the attractions of Mlle. de la Rodiere, a somewhat insignificant,
pink-and-white young person, as straight as a poplar. It is true that,
in accordance with the rules laid down for marriageable young ladies,
she scarcely opened her mouth, but her rent-roll of forty thousand
livres spoke quite sufficiently for her. Mme. de Nueil, with a mother's
sincere affection, tried to entangle her son in virtuous courses. She
called his attention to the fact that it was a flattering distinction
to be preferred by Mlle. de la Rodiere, who had refused so many great
matches; it was quite time, she urged, that he should think of his
future, such a good opportunity might not repeat itself, some day
he would have eighty thousand livres of income from land; money made
everything bearable; if Mme. de Beauseant loved him for his own
sake, she ought to be the first to urge him to marry. In short, the
well-intentioned mother forgot no arguments which the feminine intellect
can bring to bear upon the masculine mind, and by these means she had
brought her son into a wavering condition.

Mme. de Beauseant's letter arrived just as Gaston's love of her was
holding out against the temptations of a settled life conformable to
received ideas. That letter decided the day. He made up his mind to
break off with