s has been seen, it was in the
summer of 1832 that Balzac and his _Dilecta_ decided to sever their
intimate connection, and since his _Chatelaine_ of Wierzchownia had
not yet become the dominating force in his life, his heart was
doubtless yearning for some one to adore.

There was also an aching void in the heart of Madame de Castries. She,
too, was recovering from an amorous attachment, more serious than was
his, for death had recently claimed the young Count Metternich.
Perhaps then, each was seeking consolation in the other's society.

There was nothing more astonishing or charming than to see in the
evening, in one of the most simple little drawing-rooms, antiquely
furnished with tables, cushions of old velvet and screens of the
eighteenth century, this woman, her spine injured, reclining in her
invalid's chair, languid, but without affectation. This woman--with
her profile more Roman than Greek, her hair falling over her high,
white brow--was the Duchesse de Castries, nee de Maille, related to
the best families of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Accompanying the
young Comte de Metternich on the hunt, she was caught in the branch of
a tree, and fell, injuring her spine. But a shadow of her former
brilliant self--such had become this beauty, once so dazzling that the
moment she entered the drawing-room, her gorgeous robe falling over
shoulders worthy of a Titian, the brilliancy of the candles was
literally effaced.[*]

[*] Philarete Chasles was a frequent visitor of her salon. When Balzac
visited Madame Hanska at Vienna in the summer of 1835, he did a
favor for the Duchesse de Castries while there. He wrote _La
Filandiere_, 1835, one of his _Contes drolatiques_, for Madame de
Castries' son, M. le baron d'Aldenburg.

Balzac refers frequently to Count Metternich in writing to Madame
Hanska of his association with Madame de Castries:

"There is still a Metternich in this adventure; but this time it is
the son, who died in Florence. I have already told you of this
cruel affair, and I had no right to tell you. Though separated
from that person out of delicacy, all is not over yet. I suffer
through her; but I do not judge her. . . . Madame de C---- insists
that she has never loved any one except M. de M---- and that she
loves him still, that Artemisia of Ephesus. . . . You asked me, I
believe, about Madame de C---- She has taken the thing, as I told
you, tragically, and now distrusts the