ted men had judged of them.

The truth is, women are generally remarkable for the tenacity of their
ideas and for fidelity to their sentiments. Inconstancy of heart is the
special attribute of man; but he deems it his privilege as well, and
when woman disputes the palm with him on this ground, he cries aloud as
if the victim of a robber.

Rest assured this theory is no paradox; as proven by the prodigies of
patient devotion--tenacious, inviolable--every day displayed by women
of the lower classes, whose natures, if gross, retain their primitive
sincerity. Even with women of the world, depraved though they be by
the temptations that assail them, nature asserts herself; and it is no
rarity to see them devote an entire life to one idea, one thought, or
one affection! Their lives do not know the thousand distractions which
at once disturb and console men; and any idea that takes hold upon them
easily becomes fixed. They dwell upon it in the crowd and in solitude;
when they read and while they sew; in their dreams and in their prayers.
In it they live--for it they die.

It was thus that Madame de Tecle had dwelt year after year on the
project of this alliance with unalterable fervor, and had blended the
two pure affections that shared her heart in this union of her daughter
with Camors, and in thus securing the happiness of both. Ever since she
had conceived this desire--which could only have had its birth in a
soul as pure as it was tender--the education of her child had become
the sweet romance of her life. She dreamed of it always, and of nothing
else.

Without knowing or even suspecting the evil traits lurking in the
character of Camors, she still understood that, like the great majority
of the young men of his day, the young Count was not overburdened with
principle. But she held that one of the privileges of woman, in our
social system, was the elevation of their husbands by connection with a
pure soul, by family affections, and by the sweet religion of the heart.
Seeking, therefore, by making her daughter an amiable and lovable woman,
to prepare her for the high mission for which she was destined, she
omitted nothing which could improve her. What success rewarded her
care the sequel of this narrative will show. It will suffice, for the
present, to inform the reader that Mademoiselle de Tecle was a young
girl of pleasing countenance, whose short neck was placed on shoulders
a little too high. She was not beautiful,