is would
be true. The trials he had passed through did not reform him, they only
staggered him. He did not pursue his paths with the same firmness; he
strayed from his programme. He pitied one of his victims, and, as one
wrong always entails another, after pitying his wife, he came near
loving his child. These two weaknesses had glided into his petrified
soul as into a marble fount, and there took root-two imperceptible
roots, however. The child occupied him not more than a few moments every
day. He thought of him, however, and would return home a little earlier
than usual each day than was his habit, secretly attracted by the
smile of that fresh face. The mother was for him something more. Her
sufferings, her youthful heroism had touched him. She became somebody
in his eyes. He discovered many merits in her. He perceived she was
remarkably well-informed for a woman, and prodigiously so for a French
woman. She understood half a word--knew a great deal--and guessed at the
remainder. She had, in short, that blending of grace and solidity which
gives to the conversation of a woman of cultivated mind an incomparable
charm. Habituated from infancy to her mental superiority as to her
pretty face, she carried the one as unconsciously as the other. She
devoted herself to the care of his household as if she had no idea
beyond it. There were domestic details which she would not confide to
servants. She followed them into her salons, into her boudoirs, a
blue feather-brush in hand, lightly dusting the 'etageres', the
'jardinieres', the 'consoles'. She arranged one piece of furniture and
removed another, put flowers in a vase-gliding about and singing like a
bird in a cage.

Her husband sometimes amused himself in following her with his eye in
these household occupations. She reminded him of the princesses one
sees in the ballet of the opera, reduced by some change of fortune to a
temporary servitude, who dance while putting the house in order.

"How you love order, Marie!" said he to her one day.

"Order," she said, gravely, "is the moral beauty of things."

She emphasized the word things--and, fearing she might be considered
pretentious, she blushed.

She was a lovable creature, and it can be understood that she might have
many attractions, even for her husband. Yet though he had not for one
instant the idea of sacrificing to her the passion that ruled his life,
it is certain, however, that his wife pleased him as a charming