You never scruple to use the power which his love has placed in your hand.  Your position of vantage may be read in a gesture, a look, a tone.  Oh! darling, how truly are you the mad wanton your mother called you!  You do not question, I fancy, that I am greatly Louis’ superior.  Well, I would ask you, have you ever heard me contradict him?  Am I not always, in the presence of others, the wife who respects in him the authority of the family?  Hypocrisy! you will say.  Well, listen to me.  It is true that if I want to give him any advice which I think may be of use to him, I wait for the quiet and seclusion of our bedroom to explain what I think and wish; but, I assure you, sweetheart, that even there I never arrogate to myself the place of mentor.  If I did not remain in private the same submissive wife that I appear to others, he would lose confidence in himself.  Dear, the good we do to others is spoilt unless we efface ourselves so completely that those we help have no sense of inferiority.  There is a wonderful sweetness in these hidden sacrifices, and what a triumph for me in your unsuspecting praises of Louis!  There can be no doubt also that the happiness, the comfort, the hope of the last two years have restored what misfortune, hardship, solitude, and despondency has robbed him of.

This, then, is the sum-total of my observations.  At the present moment you love in Felipe, not your husband, but yourself.  There is truth in your father’s words; concealed by the spring-flowers of your passion lies all the great lady’s selfishness.  Ah! my child, how I must love you to speak such bitter truths!

Let me tell you, if you will promise never to breathe a word of this to the Baron, the end of our talk.  We had been singing your praises in every key, for he soon discovered that I loved you like a fondly-cherished sister, and having insensibly brought him to a confidential mood, I ventured to say: 

“Louise has never yet had to struggle with life.  She has been the spoilt child of fortune, and she might yet have to pay for this were you not there to act the part of father as well as lover.”

“Ah! but is it possible? . . .”  He broke off abruptly, like a man who sees himself on the edge of a precipice.  But the exclamation was enough for me.  No doubt, if you had stayed, he would have spoken more freely later.

My sweet, think of the day awaiting you when your husband’s strength will be exhausted, when pleasure will have turned to satiety, and he sees himself, I will not say degraded, but shorn of his proper dignity before you.  The stings of conscience will then waken a sort of remorse in him, all the more painful for you, because you will feel yourself responsible, and you will end by despising the man whom you have not accustomed yourself to respect.  Remember, too, that scorn with a woman is only the earliest phase of hatred.  You are too noble and generous, I know, ever to forget the sacrifices which Felipe has made for you; but what further sacrifices will be left for him to make when he has, so to speak, served up himself at the first banquet?  Woe to the man, as to the woman, who has left no desire unsatisfied!  All is over then.  To our shame or our glory—­the point is too nice for me to decide—­it is of love alone that women are insatiable.