Letters of Two Brides

Ah! darling, my life unrolls itself before my eyes like one of the

great highways of France, level and easy, shaded with evergreen trees.

This century will not see another Bonaparte; and my children, if I

have any, will not be rent from me. They will be mine to train and

make men of--the joy of my life. If you also are true to your destiny,

you who ought to find your mate amongst the great ones of the earth,

the children of your Renee will not lack a zealous protectress.

Farewell, then, for me at least, to the romances and thrilling

adventures in which we used ourselves to play the part of heroine. The

whole story of my life lies before me now; its great crises will be

the teething and nutrition of the young Masters de l'Estorade, and the

mischief they do to my shrubs and me. To embroider their caps, to be

loved and admired by a sickly man at the mouth of the Gemenos valley

--there are my pleasures. Perhaps some day the country dame may go and

spend a winter in Marseilles; but danger does not haunt the purlieus

of a narrow provincial stage. There will be nothing to fear, not even

an admiration such as could only make a woman proud. We shall take a

great deal of interest in the silkworms for whose benefit our

mulberry-leaves will be sold! We shall know the strange vicissitudes

of life in Provence, and the storms that may attack even a peaceful

household. Quarrels will be impossible, for M. de l'Estorade has

formally announced that he will leave the reins in his wife's hands;

and as I shall do nothing to remind him of this wise resolve, it is

likely he may persevere in it.

You, my dear Louise, will supply the romance of my life. So you must

narrate to me in full all your adventures, describe your balls and

parties, tell me what you wear, what flowers crown your lovely golden

locks, and what are the words and manners of the men you meet. Your

other self will be always there--listening, dancing, feeling her

finger-tips pressed--with you. If only I could have some fun in Paris

now and then, while you played the house-mother at La Crampade! such

is the name of our grange. Poor M. de l'Estorade, who fancies he is

marrying one woman! Will he find out there are two?

I am writing nonsense now, and as henceforth I can only be foolish by

proxy, I had better stop. One kiss, then, on each cheek--my lips are

still virginal, he has only dared to take my hand. Oh! our deference

and propriety are quite disquieting, I assure you. There, I am off

again. . . . Good-bye, dear.