r. Each has its
own inner laws which differ from those of others. The laws regulating
married life in the country, for instance, cannot be the same as those
regulating a household in town, where frequent distractions give variety
to life. Or conversely, married life in Paris, where existence is one
perpetual whirl, must demand different treatment from the more peaceful
home in the provinces.

But if place alters the conditions of marriage, much more does
character. The wife of a man born to be a leader need only resign
herself to his guidance; whereas the wife of a fool, conscious of
superior power, is bound to take the reins in her own hand if she would
avert calamity.

You speak of vice; and it is possible that, after all, reason and
reflection produce a result not dissimilar from what we call by that
name. For what does a woman mean by it but perversion of feeling through
calculation? Passion is vicious when it reasons, admirable only when it
springs from the heart and spends itself in sublime impulses that set
at naught all selfish considerations. Sooner or later, dear one, you too
will say, "Yes! dissimulation is the necessary armor of a woman, if by
dissimulation be meant courage to bear in silence, prudence to foresee
the future."

Every married woman learns to her cost the existence of certain social
laws, which, in many respects, conflict with the laws of nature.
Marrying at our age, it would be possible to have a dozen children. What
is this but another name for a dozen crimes, a dozen misfortunes? It
would be handing over to poverty and despair twelve innocent darlings;
whereas two children would mean the happiness of both, a double
blessing, two lives capable of developing in harmony with the customs
and laws of our time. The natural law and the code are in hostility,
and we are the battle ground. Would you give the name of vice to the
prudence of the wife who guards her family from destruction through its
own acts? One calculation or a thousand, what matter, if the decision no
longer rests with the heart?

And of this terrible calculation you will be guilty some day, my noble
Baronne de Macumer, when you are the proud and happy wife of the man who
adores you; or rather, being a man of sense, he will spare you by making
it himself. (You see, dear dreamer, that I have studied the code in its
bearings on conjugal relations.) And when at last that day comes, you
will understand that we are answerable only