so little of it, that I thought satiety
would spare her longer than most. There was a pause, after which I
said:

"You will be missed at Chambord, but Capello is so sweet in the spring
and summer."

"Yes," answered Francezka, "but even there I shall not be able to
escape people. Do you remember how they flocked there when Gaston came
home? And I verily believe half Paris means to follow us to Capello.
Gaston has invited many persons to visit us."

"Against your wish Madame?" I asked in surprise.

"Oh, no, he never does anything against my wish, but he never knows
what my wish is--since his return. Before he went away he always knew
my wishes in advance. Sometimes he combatted them. We had our little
wrangles from the time we first met and loved, and often showed
temper, one to the other, until his return. Now we never have any
wrangles. As soon as I express my will Gaston immediately makes it his
will. That, you will grant, is an unnatural way for two merely human
creatures to live."

"At least not many are afflicted with that form of unhappiness,
Madame."

"It is a form of unhappiness, though. I dare not express the smallest
disapproval of a thing or a person that Gaston does not seem to take
it as law. The most casual wish is fulfilled, but, as I say, he has
not the clairvoyance of love with all this devotion. He might have
seen that I longed for rest and quiet at Capello, but he did not. Now,
if I express the slightest distaste for company there he will withdraw
every invitation. To have one's lightest word taken seriously, and
one's smallest inclination influence the conduct of another person,
is highly uncomfortable."

I knew not what to say. Francezka's grievance appeared to me to be a
strange one though not wholly unreasoning. But I saw what gave me the
sharpest pain. It flashed upon me that she no longer loved Gaston
Cheverny. As if she had the clairvoyance that she complained of
Gaston's lacking, she continued:

"Yes; outwardly, all is the same; inwardly, all is changed. I have a
growing sense of strangeness with my husband. At first I felt the same
intimate friendship I had felt during our short married life, but by
insensible degrees I have come to feel that I do not know Gaston, nor
does Gaston know me. It is an appalling feeling."

"I should think so," I replied, and fell silent.

It was all strange and painful to me. I knew Francezka's faults well,
but I had never seen in her any deficiency i