world gave
him the name of husband, but he never suffered me to call him anything
but father, and he was such to me in care and tenderness. He made me
the adored and radiating centre of a select and distinguished circle,
composed for the greater part of those old men, eminent in letters,
politics, or philosophy, who had been the glory of the preceding
century and had escaped the fury of the Revolution, and the voluntary
servitude of the Empire. He selected for me friends and guides among
those women of the same period who were most remarkable for their
talents or virtues; he promoted and encouraged all those connections
most likely to interest my mind or heart, and to diversify the
monotonous life I led in an old man's house; and far from being severe
or jealous in respect of my acquaintances, he sought by the most
courteous attention to attract all those distinguished men whose
society might have charms for me. He would have liked whomever I had
chosen, and would have been pleased if I had shown preference to any
one among the crowd. I was the worshipped idol of the house, and the
general idolatry of which I was the object went far, perhaps, to guard
me against any individual predilection. I was too happy and too much
flattered to inquire into the state of my own heart, and besides, there
was so much paternal tenderness in my husband's manner towards me,
although he only showed his fondness by sometimes holding me to his
heart, and kissing my forehead, from which he gently parted my hair,
that I should have feared to disturb my happiness by seeking to render
it complete. He would sometimes, however, playfully rally me on my
indifference, and tell me that all that tended to add to my happiness
would increase his own.

"Once, and once only, I thought I loved and was beloved. A man whose
genius had rendered him illustrious, who was powerful from his high
favor with the Emperor, and who was doubly captivating by his renown
and appearance, although he had passed the meridian of life, sought me
with a signal devotion that deceived me. I was not elated with pride,
but rather with gratitude and surprise. I loved him for a time, or
rather I loved a self-created delusion under his name. I might have
yielded to the charm of such a feeling, had I not discovered that what
I supposed to be a passionate attachment of the heart was on his part
only an infatuation of the senses. When I perceived the real nature of
his love, it became