e far-off
corner of her heart; her memories of her dead children were like the
headstones on a battlefield, you can scarcely see them for the flowers
that have sprung up about them since. Of course, if the world had
chosen, it might have said some hard truths about the Marquise, might
have taken her to task for shallowness and an overweening preference for
one child at the expense of the rest; but the world of Paris is swept
along by the full flood of new events, new ideas, and new fashions, and
it was inevitable the Mme. d'Aiglemont should be in some sort allowed
to drop out of sight. So nobody thought of blaming her for coldness
or neglect which concerned no one, whereas her quick, apprehensive
tenderness for Moina was found highly interesting by not a few who
respected it as a sort of superstition. Besides, the Marquise scarcely
went into society at all; and the few families who knew her thought of
her as a kindly, gentle, indulgent woman, wholly devoted to her family.
What but a curiosity, keen indeed, would seek to pry beneath the surface
with which the world is quite satisfied? And what would we not pardon
to old people, if only they will efface themselves like shadows, and
consent to be regarded as memories and nothing more!

Indeed, Mme. d'Aiglemont became a kind of example complacently held up
by the younger generation to fathers of families, and frequently cited
to mothers-in-law. She had made over her property to Moina in her own
lifetime; the young Countess' happiness was enough for her, she only
lived in her daughter. If some cautious old person or morose uncle here
and there condemned the course with--"Perhaps Mme. d'Aiglemont may be
sorry some day that she gave up her fortune to her daughter; she may
be sure of Moina, but how can she be equally sure of her
son-in-law?"--these prophets were cried down on all sides, and from all
sides a chorus of praise went up for Moina.

"It ought to be said, in justice to Mme. de Saint-Hereen, that her
mother cannot feel the slightest difference," remarked a young married
woman. "Mme. d'Aiglemont is admirably well housed. She has a carriage at
her disposal, and can go everywhere just as she used to do--"

"Except to the Italiens," remarked a low voice. (This was an elderly
parasite, one of those persons who show their independence--as they
think--by riddling their friends with epigrams.) "Except to the
Italiens. And if the dowager cares for anything on this earth but h