injuries, to avenge which
my husband had this day determined to take my life? My fault was great,
very great; and the more so, because the object I had selected was every
way so unworthy, and leaves me the additional shame of having to blush
for my choice. Happily for me, my lord, the conversation you overheard
between the Countess Sarah and her brother on the subject of M. Charles
Robert spares me much of the humiliation I should otherwise have
experienced in making this confession. I only venture to hope that,
since listening to my relation, you may be induced to consider me as
much an object of pity as I admit I am of blame."

"I cannot express to you, madame, how deeply your narrative has touched
me. What gnawing grief, what hidden sorrows have you not been called
upon to endure, from the death of your mother to the birth of your
child! Who would ever believe such ills could reach one so envied, so
admired, and so calculated to enjoy and impart happiness to others?"

"Oh, my lord, there are some sorrows so deep, so unapproachable, that
for worlds we would not even have them suspected; and the severest
increase of suffering would arise from the very doubt of our being the
enviable creatures we are believed to be."

"You are right; nothing would be more painful than the question, openly
expressed, 'Is she or he as happy as they seem to be?' Still, if there
is any happiness in the knowledge, be assured you are not the only one
who has to struggle with the fearful contrast between reality and that
which the world believes."

"How so, my lord?"

"Because, in the eyes of all who know you, your husband is esteemed even
happier than yourself, since he possesses one so rich in every good
gift; and yet is not he also much to be pitied? Can there be a more
miserable existence than the one he leads? He has acted unfairly and
selfishly towards you, but has he not been bitterly punished? He loves
you with a passion, deep and sincere, worthy of you to have inspired,
yet he knows that your only feeling towards him is insurmountable
aversion and contempt. In his feeble, suffering child he beholds a
constant reproach; nor is that all he is called upon to endure;
jealousy also assails him with her nameless tortures."

"And how can I help that, my lord? By giving him no occasion for
jealousy, you reply. And certainly you are right. But, think you,
because no other person would possess my love, it would any the more be
his? He kn