of himself. Even before they had ever met, he wrote her that he could
not take a step that was not misinterpreted. She seemed continually to
be hearing of something derogatory to his character, and trying to
investigate his actions. The reader has had glimpses enough of
Balzac's life to understand what a task was hers. Yet she doubtless
sometimes accused him unnecessarily, and he in turn became impatient:

"This letter contains two reproaches which have keenly affected me;
and I think I have already told you that a few chance expressions
would suffice to make me go to Wierzchownia, which would be a
misfortune in my present perilous situation; but I would rather
lose everything than lose a true friendship. . . . In short, you
distrust me at a distance, just as you distrusted me near by,
without any reason. I read quite despairingly the paragraph of
your letter in which you do the honors of my heart to my mind, and
sacrifice my whole personality to my brain. . . . In your last
letters, you know, you have believed things that are
irreconcilable with what you know of me. I cannot explain to
myself your tendency to believe absurd calumnies. I still remember
your credulity in Geneva, when they said I was married."

Even her own family added to her suspicions:

". . . Your letter has crushed me more than all the heavy nonsense
that jealousy and calumny, lawsuit and money matters have cast
upon me. My sensibility is a proof of friendship; there are none
but those we love who can make us suffer. I am not angry with your
aunt, but I am angry that a person as distinguished as you say she
is should be accessible to such base and absurd calumny. But you
yourself, at Geneva, when I told you I was as free as air, you
believed me to be married, on the word of one of those fools whose
trade it is to sell money. I began to laugh. Here, I no longer
laugh, because I have the horrible privilege of being horribly
calumniated. A few more controversies like the last, and I shall
retire to the remotest part of Touraine, isolating myself from
everything, renouncing all, . . . Think always that what I do has
a reason and an object, that my actions are _necessary_. There is,
for two souls that are a little above others, something mortifying
in repeating to you for the tenth time not to believe in calumny.
When you said to me three letters ago, that I gambled, it was just
as true as m