letters of two brides-第51章

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which　is　hateful　to　them　because　they　have　ceased　themselves　to　be
attractive；all　these　are　horrors　unknown　to　youth。　They　are　the
penalty　of　unequal　unions。　Oh！　my　dear；　whatever　you　do；　don't　marry
Athenais　to　an　old　man！

But　his　smilehow　I　feast　on　it！　A　smile　which　is　always　there；　yet
always　fresh　through　the　play　of　subtle　fancy；　a　speaking　smile　which
makes　of　the　lips　a　storehouse　for　thoughts　of　love　and　unspoken
gratitude；　a　smile　which　links　present　joys　to　past。　For　nothing　is
allowed　to　drop　out　of　our　common　life。　The　smallest　works　of　nature
have　become　part　and　parcel　of　our　joy。　In　these　delightful　woods
everything　is　alive　and　eloquent　of　ourselves。　An　old　moss…grown　oak；
near　the　woodsman's　house　on　the　roadside；　reminds　us　how　we　sat
there；　wearied；　under　its　shade；　while　Gaston　taught　me　about　the
mosses　at　our　feet　and　told　me　their　story；　till；　gradually　ascending
from　science　to　science；　we　touched　the　very　confines　of　creation。

There　is　something　so　kindred　in　our　minds　that　they　seem　to　me　like
two　editions　of　the　same　book。　You　see　what　a　literary　tendency　I　have
developed！　We　both　have　the　habit；　or　the　gift；　of　looking　at　every
subject　broadly；　of　taking　in　all　its　points　of　view；　and　the　proof　we
are　constantly　giving　ourselves　of　the　singleness　of　our　inward　vision
is　an　ever…new　pleasure。　We　have　actually　come　to　look　on　this
community　of　mind　as　a　pledge　of　love；　and　if　it　ever　failed　us；　it
would　mean　as　much　to　us　as　would　a　breach　of　fidelity　in　an　ordinary
home。

My　life；　full　as　it　is　of　pleasures；　would　seem　to　you；　nevertheless；
extremely　laborious。　To　begin　with；　my　dear；　you　must　know　that
Louise…Armande…Marie　de　Chaulieu　does　her　own　room。　I　could　not　bear
that　a　hired　menial；　some　woman　or　girl　from　the　outside；　should
become　initiatedliterary　touch　again！into　the　secrets　of　my
bedroom。　The　veriest　trifles　connected　with　the　worship　of　my　heart
partake　of　its　sacred　character。　This　is　not　jealousy；　it　is　self…
respect。　Thus　my　room　is　done　out　with　all　the　care　a　young　girl　in
love　bestows　on　her　person；　and　with　the　precision　of　an　old　maid。　My
dressing…room　is　no　chaos　of　litter；　on　the　contrary；　it　makes　a
charming　boudoir。　My　keen　eye　has　foreseen　all　contingencies。　At
whatever　hour　the　lord　and　master　enters；　he　will　find　nothing　to
distress；　surprise；　or　shock　him；　he　is　greeted　by　flowers；　scents；
and　everything　that　can　please　the　eye。

I　get　up　in　the　early　dawn；　while　he　is　still　sleeping；　and；　without
disturbing　him；　pass　into　the　dressing…room；　where；　profiting　by　my
mother's　experience；　I　remove　the　traces　of　sleep　by　bathing　in　cold
water。　For　during　sleep　the　skin；　being　less　active；　does　not　perform
its　functions　adequately；　it　becomes　warm　and　covered　with　a　sort　of
mist　or　atmosphere　of　sticky　matter；　visible　to　the　eye。　From　a
sponge…bath　a　woman　issues　ten　years　younger；　and　this；　perhaps；　is
the　interpretation　of　the　myth　of　Venus　rising　from　the　sea。　So　the
cold　water　restores　to　me　the　saucy　charm　of　dawn；　and；　having　combed
and　scented　my　hair　and　made　a　most　fastidious　toilet；　I　glide　back；
snake…like；　in　order　that　my　master　may　find　me；　dainty　as　a　spring
morning；　at　his　wakening。　He　is　charmed　with　this　freshness；　as　of　a
newly…opened　flower；　without　having　the　least　idea　how　it　is　produced。

The　regular　toilet　of　the　day　is　a　matter　for　my　maid；　and　this　takes
place　later　in　a　larger　room；　set　aside　for　the　purpose。　As　you　may
suppose；　there　is　also　a　toilet　for　going　to　bed。　Three　times　a　day；
you　see；　or　it　may　be　four；　do　I　array　myself　for　the　delight　of　my
husband；　which；　again；　dear　one；　is　suggestive　of　certain　ancient
myths。

But　our　work　is　not　all　play。　We　take　a　great　deal　of　interest　in　our
flowers；　in　the　beauties　of　the　hothouse；　and　in　our　trees。　We　give
ourselves　in　all　seriousness　to　horticulture；　and　embosom　the　chalet
in　flowers；　of　which　we　are　passionately　fond。　Our　lawns　are　always
green；　our　shrubberies　as　well　tended　as　those　of　a　millionaire。　And
nothing　I　assure　you；　can　match　the　beauty　of　our　walled　garden。　We
are　regular　gluttons　over　our　fruit；　and　watch　with　tender　interest
our　Montreuil　peaches；　our　hotbeds；　our　laden　trellises；　and　pyramidal
pear…trees。

But　lest　these　rural　pursuits　should　fail　to　satisfy　my　beloved's
mind；　I　have　advised　him　to　finish；　in　the　quiet　of　this　retreat；　some
plays　which　were　begun　in　his　starvation　days；　and　which　are　really
very　fine。　This　is　the　only　kind　of　literary　work　which　can　be　done　in
odd　moments；　for　it　requires　long　intervals　of　reflection；　and　does
not　demand　the　elaborate　pruning　essential　to　a　finished　style。　One
can't　make　a　task…work　of　dialogue；　there　must　be　biting　touches；
summings…up；　and　flashes　of　wit；　which　are　the　blossoms　of　the　mind；
and　come　rather　by　inspiration　than　reflection。　This　sort　of
intellectual　sport　is　very　much　in　my　line。　I　assist　Gaston　in　his
work；　and　in　this　way　manage　to　accompany　him　even　in　the　boldest
flights　of　his　imagination。　Do　you　see　now　how　it　is　that　my　winter
evenings　never　drag？

Our　servants　have　such　an　easy　time；　that　never　once　since　we　were
married　have　we　had　to　reprimand　any　of　them。　When　questioned　about
us；　they　have　had　wit　enough　to　draw　on　their　imaginations；　and　have
given　us　out　as　the　companion　and　secretary　of　a　lady　and　gentleman
supposed　to　be　traveling。　They　never　go　out　without　asking　permission；
which　they　know　will　not　be　refused；　they　are　contented　too；　and　see
plainly　that　it　will　be　their　own　fault　if　there　is　a　change　for　the
worse。　The　gardeners　are　allowed　to　sell　the　surplus　of　our　fruits　and
vegetables。　The　dairymaid　does　the　same　with　the　milk；　the　cream；　and
the　fresh　butter；　on　condition　that　the　best　of　the　produce　is
reserved　for　us。　They　are　well　pleased　with　their　profits；　and　we　are
delighted　with　an　abundance　which　no　money　and　no　ingenuity　can
procure　in　that　terrible　Paris；　where　it　costs　a　hundred　francs　to
produce　a　single　fine　peach。

All　this　is　not　without　its　meaning；　my　dear。　I　wish　to　fill　the　place
of　society　to　my　husband；　now　society　is　amusing；　and　therefore　his
solitude　must　not　be　allowed　to　pall　on　him。　I　believed　myself　jealous
in　the　old　days；　when　I　merely　allowed　myself　to　be　loved；　now　I　know
real　jealousy；　the　jealousy　of　the　lover。　A　single　indifferent　glance
unnerves　me。　From　time　to　time　I　say　to　myself；　〃Suppose　he　ceased　to
love　me！〃　And　a　shudder　goes　through　me。　I　tremble　before　him；　as　the
Christian　before　his　God。

Alas！　Renee；　I　am　still　without　a　child。　The　time　will　surely　comeit
must　comewhen　our　hermitage　will　need　a　father's　and　a　mother's　care
to　brighten　it；　when　we　shall　both　pine　to　see　the　little　frocks　and
pelisses；　the　brown　or　golden　heads；　leaping；　running　through　our
shrubberies　and　flowery　paths。　Oh！　it　is　a　cruel　jest　of　Nature's；　a
flowering　tree　that　bears　no　fruit。　The　thought　of　your　lovely
children　goes　through　me　like　a　knife。　My　life　has　grown　narrower；
while　yours　has　expanded　and　shed　its　rays　afar。　The　passion　of　love
is　essentially　selfish；　while　motherhood　widens　the　circle　of　our
feelings。　How　well　I　felt　this　difference　when　I　read　your　kind；
tender　letter！　To　see　you　thus　living　in　three　hearts　roused　my　envy。
Yes；　you　are　happy；　you　have　had　wisdom　to　obey　the　laws　of　social
life；　whilst　I　stand　outside；　an　alien。

Children；　dear　and　loving　children；　can　alone　console　a　woman　for　the
loss　of　her　beauty。　I　shall　soon　be　thirty；　and　at　that　age　the　dirge
within　begins。　What　though　I　am　still　beautiful；　the　limits　of　my
woman's　reign　are　none　the　less　in　sight。　When　they　are　reached；　what
then？　I　shall　be　forty　before　he　is；　I　shall　be　old　while　he　is　still
young。　When　this　thought　goes　to　my　heart；　I　lie　at　his　feet　for　an
hour　at　a　time；　making　him　swear　to　tell　me　instantly　if　ever　he　feels
his　love　diminishing。

But　he　is　a　child。　He　swears；　as　though　the　mere　suggestion　were　an
absurdity；　and　he　is　so　beautiful　thatRenee；　you　understandI
believe　him。

Good…bye；　sweet　one。　Shall　we　ever　again　let　years　pass　without
writing？　Happiness　is　a　monotonous　theme；　and　that　is；　perhaps；　the
reason　why；　to　s