best advice."

"But you will be with us."

"Possibly, my child. Last night, while the ball was going on, I
reflected on the dangers of our being together. If my presence were to
do you harm, if the little acts by which you ought slowly, but surely,
to establish your authority as a wife should be attributed to my
influence, your home would become a hell. At the first frown I saw upon
your husband's brow I, proud as I am, should instantly leave his house.
If I were driven to leave it, better, I think, not to enter it. I should
never forgive your husband if he caused trouble between us. Whereas,
when you have once become the mistress, when your husband is to you what
your father was to me, that danger is no longer to be feared. Though
this wise policy will cost your young and tender heart a pang, your
happiness demands that you become the absolute sovereign of your home."

"Then why, mamma, did you say just now I must obey him?"

"My dear little daughter, in order that a wife may rule, she must always
seem to do what her husband wishes. If you were not told this you might
by some impulsive opposition destroy your future. Paul is a weak young
man; he might allow a friend to rule him; he might even fall under the
dominion of some woman who would make you feel her influence. Prevent
such disasters by making yourself from the very start his ruler. Is it
not better that he be governed by you than by others?"

"Yes, certainly," said Natalie. "I should think only of his happiness."

"And it is my privilege, darling, to think only of yours, and to wish
not to leave you at so crucial a moment without a compass in the midst
of the reefs through which you must steer."

"But, dearest mother, are we not strong enough, you and I, to stay
together beside him, without having to fear those frowns you seem to
dread. Paul loves you, mamma."

"Oh! oh! He fears me more than he loves me. Observe him carefully to-day
when I tell him that I shall let you go to Paris without me, and you
will see on his face, no matter what pains he takes to conceal it, his
inward joy."

"Why should he feel so?"

"Why? Dear child! I am like Saint-Jean Bouche-d'Or. I will tell that to
himself, and before you."

"But suppose I marry on condition that you do not leave me?" urged
Natalie.

"Our separation is necessary," replied her mother. "Several
considerations have greatly changed my future. I am now poor. You will
lead a brilliant life in Paris, a