“‘Yes.’

   “’But you see her often, it seems to me-morning and evening.  You
   are always with her.’

“’Heavens!  I do it to be agreeable to you.  Is not Madame de
Campvallon a good associate?’

“’Excellent; only in general I do not admire female friendships. 
But I did wrong to speak to you on this subject.  You have wit and
discretion enough to preserve the proper limits.’

“This, my mother, was what he said to me.  I embrace you.

                  Ever your
                         “Marie.”

............................

“March.

“I hope, my own mother, not to bore you this year with a catalogue of fetes and festivals, lamps and girandoles; for Lent is coming.  To-day is Ash-Wednesday.  Well, we dance to-morrow evening at Madame d’Oilly’s.  I had hoped not to go, but I saw Louis was disappointed, and I feared to offend Madame d’Oilly, who has acted a mother’s part to my husband.  Lent here is only an empty name.  I sigh to myself:  ’Will they never stop!  Great heavens! will they never cease amusing themselves?’

   “I must confess to you, my darling mother, I amuse myself too much
   to be happy.  I depended on Lent for some time to myself, and see
   how they efface the calendar!

“This dear Lent!  What a sweet, honest, pious invention it is, notwithstanding.  How sensible is our religion!  How well it understands human weakness and folly!  How far-seeing in its regulations!  How indulgent also! for to limit pleasure is to pardon it.

“I also love pleasure—­the beautiful toilets that make us resemble flowers, the lighted salons, the music, the gay voices and the dance.  Yes, I love all these things; I experience their charming confusion; I palpitate, I inhale their intoxication.  But always—­ always! at Paris in the winter—­at the springs in summer—­ever this crowd, ever this whirl, this intoxication of pleasure!  All become like savages, like negroes, and—­dare I say so?—­bestial!  Alas for Lent!

   “He foresaw it.  He told us, as the priest told me this morning: 
   ’Remember you have a soul:  Remember you have duties!—­a husband
   —­a child—­a mother—­a God!’

“Then, my mother, we should retire within ourselves; should pass the time in grave thought between the church and our homes; should converse on solemn and serious subjects; and should dwell in the moral world to gain a foothold in heaven!  This season is intended as a wholesome interval to prevent our running frivolity into dissipation, and pleasure into convulsion; to prevent our winter’s mask from becoming our permanent visage.  This is entirely the opinion of Madame Jaubert.

“Who is this Madame Jaubert? you will ask.  She is a little Parisian angel whom my mother would dearly love!  I met her almost