p the matter. He made himself the leader of
the application for a divorce, laid down the lines of it, almost argued
the case; he offered to be at all the charges, to see the lawyers, the
pleaders, the judges, to move heaven and earth. Madame de Sommervieux
was frightened, she refused her father's services, said she would not
be separated from her husband even if she were ten times as unhappy, and
talked no more about her sorrows. After being overwhelmed by her parents
with all the little wordless and consoling kindnesses by which the
old couple tried in vain to make up to her for her distress of heart,
Augustine went away, feeling the impossibility of making a superior mind
intelligible to weak intellects. She had learned that a wife must hide
from every one, even from her parents, woes for which it is so difficult
to find sympathy. The storms and sufferings of the upper spheres
are appreciated only by the lofty spirits who inhabit there. In any
circumstance we can only be judged by our equals.

Thus poor Augustine found herself thrown back on the horror of her
meditations, in the cold atmosphere of her home. Study was indifferent
to her, since study had not brought her back her husband's heart.
Initiated into the secret of these souls of fire, but bereft of their
resources, she was compelled to share their sorrows without sharing
their pleasures. She was disgusted with the world, which to her seemed
mean and small as compared with the incidents of passion. In short, her
life was a failure.

One evening an idea flashed upon her that lighted up her dark grief like
a beam from heaven. Such an idea could never have smiled on a heart less
pure, less virtuous than hers. She determined to go to the Duchesse de
Carigliano, not to ask her to give her back her husband's heart, but to
learn the arts by which it had been captured; to engage the interest of
this haughty fine lady for the mother of her lover's children; to appeal
to her and make her the instrument of her future happiness, since she
was the cause of her present wretchedness.

So one day Augustine, timid as she was, but armed with supernatural
courage, got into her carriage at two in the afternoon to try for
admittance to the boudoir of the famous coquette, who was never visible
till that hour. Madame de Sommervieux had not yet seen any of the
ancient and magnificent mansions of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. As she
made her way through the stately corridors, the hands