hree years after her marriage this pretty young woman, who dashed past
in her handsome carriage, and lived in a sphere of glory and riches
to the envy of heedless folk incapable of taking a just view of the
situations of life, was a prey to intense grief. She lost her color; she
reflected; she made comparisons; then sorrow unfolded to her the first
lessons of experience. She determined to restrict herself bravely within
the round of duty, hoping that by this generous conduct she might
sooner or later win back her husband's love. But it was not so. When
Sommervieux, fired with work, came in from his studio, Augustine did not
put away her work so quickly but that the painter might find his wife
mending the household linen, and his own, with all the care of a good
housewife. She supplied generously and without a murmur the money needed
for his lavishness; but in her anxiety to husband her dear Theodore's
fortune, she was strictly economical for herself and in certain details
of domestic management. Such conduct is incompatible with the easy-going
habits of artists, who, at the end of their life, have enjoyed it so
keenly that they never inquire into the causes of their ruin.

It is useless to note every tint of shadow by which the brilliant hues
of their honeymoon were overcast till they were lost in utter blackness.
One evening poor Augustine, who had for some time heard her husband
speak with enthusiasm of the Duchesse de Carigliano, received from a
friend certain malignantly charitable warnings as to the nature of the
attachment which Sommervieux had formed for this celebrated flirt of
the Imperial Court. At one-and-twenty, in all the splendor of youth and
beauty, Augustine saw herself deserted for a woman of six-and-thirty.
Feeling herself so wretched in the midst of a world of festivity which
to her was a blank, the poor little thing could no longer understand
the admiration she excited, or the envy of which she was the object.
Her face assumed a different expression. Melancholy, tinged her features
with the sweetness of resignation and the pallor of scorned love. Ere
long she too was courted by the most fascinating men; but she remained
lonely and virtuous. Some contemptuous words which escaped her husband
filled her with incredible despair. A sinister flash showed her the
breaches which, as a result of her sordid education, hindered the
perfect union of her soul with Theodore's; she loved him well enough to
absolve h