atient and without pride, gentle and without that bitterness
which women know so well how to cast into their submission, left Diard
no chance for planned ill-humor. Besides, she was one of those noble
creatures to whom it is impossible to speak disrespectfully; her glance,
in which her life, saintly and pure, shone out, had the weight of a
fascination. Diard, embarrassed at first, then annoyed, ended by feeling
that such high virtue was a yoke upon him. The goodness of his wife gave
him no violent emotions, and violent emotions were what he wanted. What
myriads of scenes are played in the depths of his souls, beneath the
cold exterior of lives that are, apparently, commonplace! Among these
dramas, lasting each but a short time, though they influence life so
powerfully and are frequently the forerunners of the great misfortune
doomed to fall on so many marriages, it is difficult to choose an
example. There was a scene, however, which particularly marked the
moment when in the life of this husband and wife estrangement began.
Perhaps it may also serve to explain the finale of this narrative.

Juana had two children, happily for her, two sons. The first was born
seven months after her marriage. He was called Juan, and he strongly
resembled his mother. The second was born about two years after her
arrival in Paris. The latter resembled both Diard and Juana, but more
particularly Diard. His name was Francisque. For the last five years
Francisque had been the object of Juana's most tender and watchful care.
The mother was constantly occupied with that child; to him her prettiest
caresses; to him the toys, but to him, especially, the penetrating
mother-looks. Juana had watched him from his cradle; she had studied his
cries, his motions; she endeavored to discern his nature that she might
educate him wisely. It seemed at times as if she had but that one child.
Diard, seeing that the eldest, Juan, was in a way neglected, took him
under his own protection; and without inquiring even of himself whether
the boy was the fruit of that ephemeral love to which he owed his wife,
he made him his Benjamin.

Of all the sentiments transmitted to her through the blood of her
grandmothers which consumed her, Madame Diard accepted one alone,
--maternal love. But she loved her children doubly: first with the
noble violence of which her mother the Marana had given her the example;
secondly, with grace and purity, in the spirit of those social
v