ng Balzac's complicated life, one can understand how, having gone
to Corsica in quest of his Eldorado just before the poor Duchess
breathed her last, he could write to Madame Hanska on his return to
Paris: "The newspapers have told you of the deplorable end of the poor
Duchesse d'Abrantes. She has ended like the Empire. Some day I will
explain her to you,--some good evening at Wierzschownia."

Balzac wished to keep his visits to Madame d'Abrantes a secret from
his sister, Madame Surville, and some obscurity and a "mysterious
pavilion" is connected with their manner of communication. For a while
she visited him frequently in his den. He enjoyed her society, and
though oppressed by work, was quite ready to fix upon an evening when
they could be alone.

It was not without pain that she saw his affection for her becoming
less ardent while hers remained fervent. She wrote him tender letters
inviting him to dine with her, or to meet some of her friends,
assuring him that in her _ermitage_ he might feel perfectly at home,
and that she regarded him as one of the most excellent friends Heaven
had preserved for her.

"Heaven grant that you are telling me the truth, and that indeed I
may always be for you a good and sincere friend. . . . My dear
Honore, every one tells me that you no longer care for me. . . . I
say that they lie. . . . You are not only my friend, but my
sincere and good friend. I have kept for you a profound affection,
and this affection is of a nature that does not change. . . . Here
is _Catherine_, here is my first work. I am sending it to you, and
it is the heart of a friend that offers it to you. May it be the
heart of a friend that receives it! . . . My soul is oppressed on
account of this, but it is false, I hope."

Balzac continued to visit her occasionally, and there exists a curious
specimen of his handwriting written (October, 1835) in the album of
her daughter, Madame Aubert. He sympathized with the unfortunate
Duchess who, raised to so high a rank, had fallen so low, and tried to
cheer her in his letters:

"You say you are ill and suffering, and without any hope that finer
weather will do you any good. Remember that for the soul there
arises every day a fresh springtime and a beautiful fresh morning.
Your past life has no words to express it in any language, but it
is scarcely a recollection, and you cannot judge what your future
life will be by that which is past. H