hough the weapon might be blunted by the blow.

"Madame," I said, "I am sure you will pardon my unceremonious entrance,
when I tell you that I have just arrived from Touraine, and that Lady
Brandon has given me a message for you which allows of no delay. I
feared you had already started for Lancashire, but as you are still
in Paris I will await your orders at any hour you may be pleased to
appoint."

She bowed, and I left the room. Since that day I have only met her in
society, where we exchange a friendly bow, and occasionally a sarcasm. I
talk to her of the inconsolable women of Lancashire; she makes allusion
to Frenchwomen who dignify their gastric troubles by calling them
despair. Thanks to her, I have a mortal enemy in de Marsay, of whom she
is very fond. In return, I call her the wife of two generations.

So my disaster was complete; it lacked nothing. I followed the plan I
had laid out for myself during my retreat at Sache; I plunged into work
and gave myself wholly to science, literature, and politics. I entered
the diplomatic service on the accession of Charles X., who suppressed
the employment I held under the late king. From that moment I was
firmly resolved to pay no further attention to any woman, no matter how
beautiful, witty, or loving she might be. This determination succeeded
admirably; I obtained a really marvellous tranquillity of mind, and
great powers of work, and I came to understand how much these women
waste our lives, believing, all the while, that a few gracious words
will repay us.

But--all my resolutions came to naught; you know how and why. Dear
Natalie, in telling you my life, without reserve, without concealment,
precisely as I tell it to myself, in relating to you feelings in which
you have had no share, perhaps I have wounded some corner of your
sensitive and jealous heart. But that which might anger a common woman
will be to you--I feel sure of it--an additional reason for loving me.
Noble women have indeed a sublime mission to fulfil to suffering and
sickened hearts,--the mission of the sister of charity who stanches the
wound, of the mother who forgives a child. Artists and poets are not
the only ones who suffer; men who work for their country, for the future
destiny of the nations, enlarging thus the circle of their passions and
their thoughts, often make for themselves a cruel solitude. They need
a pure, devoted love beside them,--believe me, they understand its
grandeur and i