At this reckoning he has already lived a thousand years.  He is content to have me for his mistress, and would claim no other title than that of lover.  So proud and pleased is he to see himself every day the chosen of my heart, that were Heaven to offer him the alternative between living as you would have us to for another thirty years with five children, and five years spent amid the dear roses of our love, he would not hesitate.  He would take my love, such as it is, and death.

While he was whispering this in my ear, his arm round me, my head resting on his shoulder, the cries of a bat, surprised by an owl, disturbed us.  This death-cry struck me with such terror that Felipe carried me half-fainting to my bed.  But don’t be alarmed!  Though this augury of evil still resounds in my soul, I am quite myself this morning.  As soon as I was up, I went to Felipe, and, kneeling before him, my eyes fixed on his, his hands clasped in mine, I said to him:—­

“My love, I am a child, and Renee may be right after all.  It may be only your love that I love in you; but at least I can assure you that this is the one feeling of my heart, and that I love you as it is given me to love.  But if there be aught in me, in my lightest thought or deed, which jars on your wishes or conception of me, I implore you to tell me, to say what it is.  It will be a joy to me to hear you and to take your eyes as the guiding-stars of my life.  Renee has frightened me, for she is a true friend.”

Macumer could not find voice to reply, tears choked him.

I can thank you now, Renee.  But for your letter I should not have known the depths of love in my noble, kingly Macumer.  Rome is the city of love; it is there that passion should celebrate its feast, with art and religion as confederates.

At Venice we shall find the Duc and Duchesse de Soria.  If you write, address now to Paris, for we shall leave Rome in three days.  The ambassador’s was a farewell party.

P. S.—­Dear, silly child, your letter only shows that you knew nothing of love, except theoretically.  Learn then that love is a quickening force which may produce fruits so diverse that no theory can embrace or co-ordinate them.  A word this for my little Professor with her armor of stays.

XL

THE COMTESSE DE L’ESTORADE TO THE BARONNE DE MACUMER
January 1827.

My father has been elected to the Chamber, my father-in-law is dead, and I am on the point of my second confinement; these are the chief events marking the end of the year for us.  I mention them at once, lest the sight of the black seal should frighten you.

My dear, your letter from Rome made my flesh creep.  You are nothing but a pair of children.  Felipe is either a dissembling diplomat or else his love for you is the love a man might have for a courtesan, on whom he squanders his all, knowing all the time that she is false to him.  Enough of this.  You say I rave, so I had better hold my tongue.  Only this would I say, from the comparison of our two very different destinies I draw this harsh moral—­Love not if you would be loved.