im and condemn herself. She shed tears of blood, and perceived,
too late, that there are _mesalliances_ of the spirit as well as of
rank and habits. As she recalled the early raptures of their union,
she understood the full extent of that lost happiness, and accepted the
conclusion that so rich a harvest of love was in itself a whole life,
which only sorrow could pay for. At the same time, she loved too truly
to lose all hope. At one-and-twenty she dared undertake to educate
herself, and make her imagination, at least, worthy of that she admired.
"If I am not a poet," thought she, "at any rate, I will understand
poetry."

Then, with all the strength of will, all the energy which every woman
can display when she loves, Madame de Sommervieux tried to alter her
character, her manners, and her habits; but by dint of devouring books
and learning undauntedly, she only succeeded in becoming less ignorant.
Lightness of wit and the graces of conversation are a gift of nature, or
the fruit of education begun in the cradle. She could appreciate
music and enjoy it, but she could not sing with taste. She understood
literature and the beauties of poetry, but it was too late to
cultivate her refractory memory. She listened with pleasure to social
conversation, but she could contribute nothing brilliant. Her religious
notions and home-grown prejudices were antagonistic to the complete
emancipation of her intelligence. Finally, a foregone conclusion against
her had stolen into Theodore's mind, and this she could not conquer. The
artist would laugh, at those who flattered him about his wife, and his
irony had some foundation; he so overawed the pathetic young creature
that, in his presence, or alone with him, she trembled. Hampered by her
too eager desire to please, her wits and her knowledge vanished in one
absorbing feeling. Even her fidelity vexed the unfaithful husband, who
seemed to bid her do wrong by stigmatizing her virtue as insensibility.
Augustine tried in vain to abdicate her reason, to yield to her
husband's caprices and whims, to devote herself to the selfishness of
his vanity. Her sacrifices bore no fruit. Perhaps they had both let
the moment slip when souls may meet in comprehension. One day the young
wife's too sensitive heart received one of those blows which so strain
the bonds of feeling that they seem to be broken. She withdrew into
solitude. But before long a fatal idea suggested to her to seek counsel
and comfort i