Letters of Two Brides

And you reproach me for the jealous care which alone can nurse this

modest and fragile shoot into a wealth of lasting and mysterious

happiness! I believed myself to have found out how to adapt the charm

of a mistress to the position of a wife, and you have almost made me

blush for my device. Who shall say which of us is right, which is

wrong? Perhaps we are both right and both wrong. Perhaps this is the

heavy price which society exacts for our furbelows, our titles, and

our children. I too have my red camellias, but they bloom on my lips in smiles for

my double charge--the father and the son--whose slave and mistress I

am.

But, my dear, your last letters made me feel what I have lost! You

have taught me all a woman sacrifices in marrying. One single glance

did I take at those beautiful wild plateaus where you range at your

sweet will, and I will not tell you the tears that fell as I read. But

regret is not remorse, though it may be first cousin to it.

You say, "Marriage has made you a philosopher!" Alas! bitterly did I

feel how far this was from the truth, as I wept to think of you swept

away on love's torrent. But my father has made me read one of the

profoundest thinkers of these parts, the man on whom the mantle of

Boussuet has fallen, one of those hard-headed theorists whose words

force conviction. While you were reading Corinne, I conned Bonald;

and here is the whole secret of my philosophy. He revealed to me the

Family in its strength and holiness. According to Bonald, your father

was right in his homily. Farewell, my dear fancy, my friend, my wild other self.