Chapter 21 - Page 2

wax made of rouge and spermaceti and cold
cream. I am straightforward; but duplicity is more pleasing. I am
loyally passionate, as an honest woman may be, but I ought to be
manoeuvring, tricky, hypocritical, and simulate a coldness I have not,
--like any provincial actress. I am intoxicated with the happiness of
having married one of the most charming men in France; I tell him,
naively, how distinguished he is, how graceful his movements are, how
handsome I think him; but to please him I ought to turn away my head
with pretended horror, to love nothing with real love, and tell him
his distinction is mere sickliness. I have the misfortune to admire
all beautiful things without setting myself up for a wit by caustic
and envious criticism of whatever shines from poesy and beauty. I
don't seek to make Canalis and Nathan say of /me/ in verse and prose
that my intellect is superior. I'm only a poor little artless child; I
care only for Calyste. Ah! if I had scoured the world like /her/, if I
had said as /she/ has said, 'I love,' in every language of Europe, I
should be consoled, I should be pitied, I should be adored for serving
the regal Macedonian with cosmopolitan love! We are thanked for our
tenderness if we set it in relief against our vice. And I, a noble
woman, must teach myself impurity and all the tricks of prostitutes!
And Calyste is the dupe of such grimaces! Oh, mother! oh, my dear
Clotilde! I feel that I have got my death-blow. My pride is only a
sham buckler; I am without defence against my misery; I love my
husband madly, and yet to bring him back to me I must borrow the
wisdom of indifference."

"Silly girl," whispered Clotilde, "let him think you will avenge
yourself--"

"I wish to die irreproachable and without the mere semblance of doing
wrong," replied Sabine. "A woman's vengeance should be worthy of her
love."

"My child," said the duchess to her daughter, "a mother must of course
see life more coolly than you can see it. Love is not the end, but the
means, of the Family. Do not imitate that poor Baronne de Macumer.
Excessive passion is unfruitful and deadly. And remember, God sends us
afflictions with knowledge of our needs. Now that Athenais' marriage
is arranged, I can give all my thoughts to you. In fact, I have
already talked of this delicate crisis in your life with your father
and the Duc de Chaulieu, and also with d'Ajuda; we shall certainly
find means to bring Calyste back to you."

"There is always one resource with the Marquise de Rochefide,"
remarked Clotilde, smiling, to her sister; "she never keeps her
adorers long."

"D'Ajuda, my darling," continued the