et, and it
is understood that the reader and present company are excepted), our
friends, I say, who deceive their wives for the sake of hussies who have
several protectors, as they are well aware? It is not a question here of
fighting on behalf of the holy shrine of monogamy. With how many
faithful, irreproachable husbands are you acquainted? Those hussies are
mistresses, you will say to me! I know it: that is to say, they are
females who belong to everybody. The question is settled: my uncle is a
virtuous man by the side of our friends. As he is incapable of such
vulgar and promiscuous intrigues he has a supplementary household, that
is all! Like the prudent traveller who is acquainted with the length of
the journey he judiciously prepares relays.

Compare that family gathering at my aunt Van Cloth's with those
unhealthy stolen pleasures of debauched husbands who feel ashamed and
tremble with the fear of being surprised. My uncle is a patriarch and
takes no part in the licentiousness of our times. So much for this
subject.

I have just received a most unforeseen blow, my dear Louis, and even
while I write have scarcely recovered from the alarm of a horrible
machination from which we were only saved by a miracle.

I told you about my poor Kondje-Gul's passing grief on account of her
mother's foolish ideas. Reassured as to the future by my vows and
promises, she was too amenable to my influence to refuse to submit to a
trial which I was forced by duty to prepare her for. Proud at the
thought that she was sacrificing her jealousy for me, sacrificing
herself for my happiness, her tears having been dried up by my kisses, I
found her the day after this cruel blow to her heart as expansive and
confiding as if no cloud had darkened our sky.

But a very few days after I was quite surprised to observe a sort of
melancholy resignation about her. I attributed this trouble to some of
the childish worries which her mother's temper occasionally gave her.
However, after several days had passed like this, I came to the
conclusion that the cause of her sadness must be something more than a
transitory one, and that she was harassed by some new grief which even
my presence was not sufficient to dissipate. By her replies to me, which
seemed to be pervaded by more than usual tenderness, I judged that--in
her fear of alarming me, no doubt,--she wished to conceal from me the
real cause of her anxiety.

One evening at one of our little