s destroying
her happiness, and goes to Italy. But she carries within her own heart
the seeds of unrest. She still follows the movements of the man who
occupies so large a space in her horizon, sympathizes from afar with
his disappointments, and cares for his literary interest, ordering from
Tenerani, a bas-relief of a scene from "The Martyrs."

After her return her life settles into more quiet channels.
Chateaubriand, embittered by the chagrins of political life, welcomed
her with the old enthusiasm. From this time he devoted himself
exclusively to letters, and sought his diversion in the convent-salon
which has left so wide a fame, and of which he was always the central
figure. The petted man of genius was moody and capricious. His colossal
egotism found its best solace in the gentle presence of the woman who
flattered his restless vanity, anticipated his wishes, studied his
tastes, and watched every shadow that flitted across his face. He was in
the habit of writing her a few lines in the morning; at three o'clock
he visited her, and they chatted over their tea until four, when favored
visitors began to arrive. In the evening it was a little world that met
there. The names of Ampere, Tocqueville, Montalembert, Merimee, Thierry,
and Sainte-Beuve suggest the literary quality of this circle, in which
were seen from time to time such foreign celebrities as Sir Humphry and
Lady Darcy, Maria Edgeworth, Humboldt, the Duke of Hamilton, the gifted
Duchess of Devonshire, and Miss Berry. Lamartine read his "Meditations"
and Delphine Gay her first poems. Rachel recited, and Pauline Viardot,
Garcia, Rubini, and Lablache sang. Delacroix, David, and Gerard
represented the world of art, and the visitors from the grand monde were
too numerous to mention. In this brilliant and cosmopolitan company,
what resources of wit and knowledge, what charms of beauty and elegance,
what splendors of rank and distinction were laid upon the altar of the
lovely and adored woman, who recognized all values, and never forgot the
kindly word or the delicate courtesy that put the most modest guests at
ease and brought out the best there was in them!

One day in 1847 there was a vacant place, and the faithful Ballanche
came no more from his rooms across the street. A year later
Chateaubriand died. After the death of his wife he had wished to marry
Mme. Recamier, but she thought it best to change nothing, believing that
age and blindness had given her the