. He was
happier the year before, when he had received in the morning, two or
three times a week, letters so gentle and so well written that he
regretted not being able to print them. Anxious, he had gone to her
house.

"I was astounded to hear of your departure. Your husband received me. He
said that, yielding to his advice, you had gone to finish the winter at
Florence with Miss Bell. He said that for some time you had looked pale
and thin. He thought a change of air would do you good. You had not
wished to go, but, as you suffered more and more, he succeeded in
persuading you.

"I had not noticed that you were thin. It seemed to me, on the contrary,
that your health was good. And then Florence is not a good winter resort.
I cannot understand your departure. I am much tormented by it. Reassure
me at once, I pray you.

"Do you think it is agreeable for me to get news of you from your husband
and to receive his confidences? He is sorry you are not here; it annoys
him that the obligations of public life compel him to remain in Paris. I
heard at the club that he had chances to become a minister. This
astonishes me, because ministers are not usually chosen among fashionable
people."

Then he related hunting tales to her. He had brought for her three
fox-skins, one of which was very beautiful; the skin of a brave animal
which he had pulled by the tail, and which had bitten his hand.

In Paris he was worried. His cousin had been presented at the club. He
feared he might be blackballed. His candidacy had been posted. Under
these conditions he did not dare advise him to withdraw; it would be
taking too great a responsibility. If he were blackballed it would be
very disagreeable. He finished by praying her to write and to return
soon.

Having read this letter, she tore it up gently, threw it in the fire, and
calmly watched it burn.

Doubtless, he was right. He had said what he had to say; he had
complained, as it was his duty to complain. What could she answer? Should
she continue her quarrel? The subject of it had become so indifferent to
her that it needed reflection to recall it. Oh, no; she had no desire to
be tormented. She felt, on the contrary, very gentle toward him! Seeing
that he loved her with confidence, in stubborn tranquillity, she became
sad and frightened. He had not changed. He was the same man he had been
before. She was not the same woman. They were separated now by
imperceptible yet strong influenc