“Stay with us, my dear Hector.  Tell me what is it that such women do to attract you so powerfully.  I too will try.  Why have you not taught me to be what you want?  Am I deficient in intelligence?  Men still think me handsome enough to court my favor.”

Many a married woman, attached to her duty and to her husband, may here pause to ask herself why strong and affectionate men, so tender-hearted to the Madame Marneffes, do not take their wives for the object of their fancies and passions, especially wives like the Baronne Adeline Hulot.

This is, indeed, one of the most recondite mysteries of human nature.  Love, which is debauch of reason, the strong and austere joy of a lofty soul, and pleasure, the vulgar counterfeit sold in the market-place, are two aspects of the same thing.  The woman who can satisfy both these devouring appetites is as rare in her sex as a great general, a great writer, a great artist, a great inventor in a nation.  A man of superior intellect or an idiot—­a Hulot or a Crevel—­equally crave for the ideal and for enjoyment; all alike go in search of the mysterious compound, so rare that at last it is usually found to be a work in two volumes.  This craving is a depraved impulse due to society.

Marriage, no doubt, must be accepted as a tie; it is life, with its duties and its stern sacrifices on both parts equally.  Libertines, who seek for hidden treasure, are as guilty as other evil-doers who are more hardly dealt with than they.  These reflections are not a mere veneer of moralizing; they show the reason of many unexplained misfortunes.  But, indeed, this drama points its own moral—­or morals, for they are of many kinds.

The Baron presently went to call on the Marshal Prince de Wissembourg, whose powerful patronage was now his only chance.  Having dwelt under his protection for five-and-thirty years, he was a visitor at all hours, and would be admitted to his rooms as soon as he was up.

“Ah!  How are you, my dear Hector?” said the great and worthy leader.  “What is the matter?  You look anxious.  And yet the session is ended.  One more over!  I speak of that now as I used to speak of a campaign.  And indeed I believe the newspapers nowadays speak of the sessions as parliamentary campaigns.”

“We have been in difficulties, I must confess, Marshal; but the times are hard!” said Hulot.  “It cannot be helped; the world was made so.  Every phase has its own drawbacks.  The worst misfortunes in the year 1841 is that neither the King nor the ministers are free to act as Napoleon was.”

The Marshal gave Hulot one of those eagle flashes which in its pride, clearness, and perspicacity showed that, in spite of years, that lofty soul was still upright and vigorous.

“You want me to so something for you?” said he, in a hearty tone.

“I find myself under the necessity of applying to you for the promotion of one of my second clerks to the head of a room—­as a personal favor to myself—­and his advancement to be officer of the Legion of Honor.”