nderstanding of all my prospects--that letter
must have made you see with what care Henriette had studied my material
interests, my political relations, my moral conquests, and with what
ardor she took hold of my life in all permissible directions. On
such points as these Lady Dudley affected the reticence of a mere
acquaintance. She never informed herself about my affairs, nor of my
likings or dislikings as a man. Prodigal for herself without being
generous, she separated too decidedly self-interest and love. Whereas
I knew very well, without proving it, that to save me a pang Henriette
would have sought for me that which she would never seek for herself. In
any great and overwhelming misfortune I should have gone for counsel to
Henriette, but I would have let myself be dragged to prison sooner than
say a word to Lady Dudley.

Up to this point the contrast relates to feelings; but it was the same
in outward things. In France, luxury is the expression of the man,
the reproduction of his ideas, of his personal poetry; it portrays the
character, and gives, between lovers, a precious value to every little
attention by keeping before them the dominant thought of the being
loved. But English luxury, which at first allured me by its choiceness
and delicacy, proved to be mechanical also. The thousand and one
attentions shown me at Clochegourde Arabella would have considered the
business of servants; each one had his own duty and speciality. The
choice of the footman was the business of her butler, as if it were a
matter of horses. She never attached herself to her servants; the death
of the best of them would not have affected her, for money could replace
the one lost by another equally efficient. As to her duty towards her
neighbor, I never saw a tear in her eye for the misfortunes of another;
in fact her selfishness was so naively candid that it absolutely created
a laugh. The crimson draperies of the great lady covered an iron nature.
The delightful siren who sounded at night every bell of her amorous
folly could soon make a young man forget the hard and unfeeling
Englishwoman, and it was only step by step that I discovered the stony
rock on which my seeds were wasted, bringing no harvest. Madame
de Mortsauf had penetrated that nature at a glance in their brief
encounter. I remembered her prophetic words. She was right; Arabella's
love became intolerable to me. I have since remarked that most women who
ride well on horsebac