ce, advised Valerie on
every step, and pursued her course of revenge with pitiless logic. She
really adored Valerie; she had taken her to be her child, her friend,
her love; she found her docile, as Creoles are, yielding from voluptuous
indolence; she chattered with her morning after morning with more
pleasure than with Wenceslas; they could laugh together over the
mischief they plotted, and over the folly of men, and count up the
swelling interest on their respective savings.

Indeed, in this new enterprise and new affection, Lisbeth had found food
for her activity that was far more satisfying than her insane passion
for Wenceslas. The joys of gratified hatred are the fiercest and
strongest the heart can know. Love is the gold, hatred the iron of
the mine of feeling that lies buried in us. And then, Valerie was,
to Lisbeth, Beauty in all its glory--the beauty she worshiped, as we
worship what we have not, beauty far more plastic to her hand than that
of Wenceslas, who had always been cold to her and distant.

At the end of nearly three years, Lisbeth was beginning to perceive the
progress of the underground mine on which she was expending her life and
concentrating her mind. Lisbeth planned, Madame Marneffe acted. Madame
Marneffe was the axe, Lisbeth was the hand the wielded it, and that hand
was rapidly demolishing the family which was every day more odious
to her; for we can hate more and more, just as, when we love, we love
better every day.

Love and hatred are feelings that feed on themselves; but of the two,
hatred has the longer vitality. Love is restricted within limits of
power; it derives its energies from life and from lavishness. Hatred
is like death, like avarice; it is, so to speak, an active abstraction,
above beings and things.

Lisbeth, embarked on the existence that was natural to her, expended in
it all her faculties; governing, like the Jesuits, by occult influences.
The regeneration of her person was equally complete; her face was
radiant. Lisbeth dreamed of becoming Madame la Marechale Hulot.

This little scene, in which the two friends had bluntly uttered
their ideas without any circumlocution in expressing them, took place
immediately on Lisbeth's return from market, whither she had been to
procure the materials for an elegant dinner. Marneffe, who hoped to get
Coquet's place, was to entertain him and the virtuous Madame Coquet,
and Valerie hoped to persuade Hulot, that very evening, to con