exceptional love had been troubled by only one
event,--a calumny for which Monsieur Jules exacted vengeance. One of his
former comrades attributed to Madame Jules the fortune of her husband,
explaining that it came from a high protection dearly paid for. The man
who uttered the calumny was killed in the duel that followed it.

The profound passion of this couple, which survived marriage, obtained
a great success in society, though some women were annoyed by it. The
charming household was respected; everybody feted it. Monsieur and
Madame Jules were sincerely liked, perhaps because there is nothing more
delightful to see than happy people; but they never stayed long at any
festivity. They slipped away early, as impatient to regain their nest
as wandering pigeons. This nest was a large and beautiful mansion in the
rue de Menars, where a true feeling for art tempered the luxury which
the financial world continues, traditionally, to display. Here the happy
pair received their society magnificently, although the obligations of
social life suited them but little.

Nevertheless, Jules submitted to the demands of the world, knowing
that, sooner or later, a family has need of it; but he and his wife felt
themselves, in its midst, like green-house plants in a tempest. With a
delicacy that was very natural, Jules had concealed from his wife the
calumny and the death of the calumniator. Madame Jules, herself, was
inclined, through her sensitive and artistic nature, to desire luxury.
In spite of the terrible lesson of the duel, some imprudent women
whispered to each other that Madame Jules must sometimes be pressed for
money. They often found her more elegantly dressed in her own home than
when she went into society. She loved to adorn herself to please her
husband, wishing to show him that to her he was more than any social
life. A true love, a pure love, above all, a happy love! Jules, always a
lover, and more in love as time went by, was happy in all things beside
his wife, even in her caprices; in fact, he would have been uneasy if
she had none, thinking it a symptom of some illness.

Auguste de Maulincour had the personal misfortune of running against
this passion, and falling in love with the wife beyond recovery.
Nevertheless, though he carried in his heart so intense a love, he was
not ridiculous; he complied with all the demands of society, and of
military manners and customs. And yet his face wore constantly, even
though