“Calyste, who of course knew nothing of the advice I had received, or of the artfulness of my behavior, fell into a delightful punning blunder by replying, ‘Never let us forget it!—We will send an artist here to sketch the scene.’
“I laughed, dear mamma!—well, I laughed till Calyste was quite disconcerted and on the point of being angry.
“ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘but there is in my heart a picture of this landscape, of this scene, which nothing can ever efface, and inimitable in its color.’
“Indeed, mother, I find it impossible to give my love the appearance of warfare or hostility. Calyste can do what he likes with me. That tear is, I believe, the first he ever bestowed on me! is it not worth more than a second declaration of a wife’s rights? A heartless woman, after the scene on the boat, would have been mistress of the situation; I lost all I had gained. By your system, the more I am a wife, the more I become a sort of prostitute, for I am a coward in happiness; I cannot hold out against a glance from my lord. I do not abandon myself to love; I hug it as a mother clasps her child to her breast for fear of some harm.”
III
From the same to the same
“July, Guérande.”
“Oh! my dear mother, to be jealous after three months of married life! My heart is indeed full. I feel the deepest hatred and the deepest love.—I am worse than deserted, I am not loved!—Happy am I to have a mother, another heart to which I may cry at my ease.
“To us wives who are still to some extent girls, it is quite enough to be told—‘Here, among the keys of your palace, is one all rusty with remembrance; go where you will, enjoy everything, but beware of visiting les Touches’—to make us rush in hotfoot, our eyes full of Eve’s curiosity. What a provoking element Mademoiselle des Touches had infused into my love! And why was I forbidden les Touches? What! does such happiness as mine hang on an excursion, on a visit to an old house in Brittany? What have I to fear?—In short, add to Mrs. Bluebeard’s reasons the craving that gnaws at every woman’s heart to know whether her power is precarious or durable, and you will understand why one day I asked, with an air of indifference:
“ ‘What sort of place is les Touches?’
“ ‘Les Touches is your own,’ said my adorable mother-in-law.
“ ‘Ah! If only Calyste had never set his foot there!—’ said Aunt Zéphirine, shaking her head.
“ ‘He would not now be my husband,’ said I.
“ ‘Then you know what happened there?’ said my mother-in-law sharply.
“ ‘It is a place of perdition,’ said Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoël. ‘Mademoiselle des Touches committed many sins there for which she now begs forgiveness of God.’
“ ‘And has it not saved that noble creature’s soul, besides making the fortune of the Convent?’ cried the Chevalier du Halga. ‘The Abbé Grimont tells me that she has given a hundred thousand francs to the Ladies of the Visitation.’
“ ‘Would you like to go to les Touches?’ said the Baroness. ‘It is worth seeing.’
“ ‘No, no!’ cried I eagerly.
“Now, does not this little scene strike you as taken from some diabolical drama? And it was repeated under a hundred pretences. At last my mother-in-law said:
“ ‘I understand why you should not wish to go to les Touches. You are quite right.’
“Confess, dear mamma, that such a stab, so unintentionally given, would have made you determine that you must know whether your happiness really rested on so frail a basis that it must perish under one particular roof? I must do this justice to Calyste, he had never proposed to visit this retreat which is now his property. Certainly when we love, we become bereft of our senses, for his silence and reserve nettled me, till I said one day, ‘What are you afraid of seeing at les Touches that you never mention it even?’
“ ‘Let us go there,’ said he.
“I was caught, as every woman is who wishes to be caught, and who trusts to chance to cut the Gordian knot of her hesitancy. So we went to les Touches.
“It is a delightful spot, most artistically tasteful, and I revel in the abyss whither Mademoiselle des Touches had warned me never to go. All poison-flowers are beautiful. The devil sows them—for there are flowers of Satan’s and flowers from God! We have only to look into our own hearts to see that they went halves in the work of creation.—What bittersweet joys I found in this place where I played, not with fire but with ashes. I watched Calyste; I wanted to know if every spark was dead, and looked out for every chance draught of air, believe me! I noted his face as we went from room to room, from one piece of furniture to another, exactly like children seeking some hidden object. He seemed thoughtful; still, at first I fancied I had conquered. I felt brave enough to speak of Madame de Rochefide, who, since the adventure of her fall at le Croisic, is called Rocheperfide. Finally, we went to look at the famous box-shrub on which Béatrix was caught when Calyste pushed her into the sea that she might never belong to any man.
“ ‘She must be very light to have rested there!’ said I, laughing.
“Calyste said nothing. ‘Peace to the dead,’ I added.
“Still he was silent. ‘Have I vexed you?’ I asked.
“ ‘No. But do not
