Letters of Two Brides

Oh! Renee, you burn my letters, don't you? I will burn yours. If other

eyes than ours were to read these thoughts which pass from heart to

heart, I should send Felipe to put them out, and perhaps to kill the

owners, by way of additional security. Monday.

Oh! Renee, how is it possible to fathom the heart of man? My father

ought to introduce me to M. Bonald, since he is so learned; I would

ask him. I envy the privilege of God, who can read the undercurrents

of the heart. Does he still worship?

That is the whole question. If ever, in gesture, glance, or tone, I were to detect the slightest

falling off in the respect he used to show me in the days when he was

my instructor in Spanish, I feel that I should have strength to put

the whole thing from me. "Why these fine words, these grand

resolutions?" you will say. Dear, I will tell you.

My fascinating father, who treats me with the devotion of an Italian

cavaliere servente for his lady, had my portrait painted, as I told

you, by Mme. de Mirbel. I contrived to get a copy made, good enough to

do for the Duke, and sent the original to Felipe. I despatched it

yesterday, and these lines with it:

"Don Felipe, your single-hearted devotion is met by a blind

confidence. Time will show whether this is not to treat a man as

more than human." It was a big reward. It looked like a promise and--dreadful to say--a

challenge; but--which will seem to you still more dreadful--I quite

intended that it should suggest both these things, without going so

far as actually to commit me. If in his reply there is "Dear Louise!"

or even "Louise," he is done for! Tuesday. No, he is not done for.

The constitutional minister is perfect as a

lover. Here is his letter:-

"Every moment passed away from your sight has been filled by me

with ideal pictures of you, my eyes closed to the outside world

and fixed in meditation on your image, which used to obey the

summons too slowly in that dim palace of dreams, glorified by your

presence. Henceforth my gaze will rest upon this wondrous ivory

--this talisman, might I not say?--since your blue eyes sparkle with

life as I look, and paint passes into flesh and blood. If I have

delayed writing, it is because I could not tear myself away from

your presence, which wrung from me all that I was bound to keep

most secret.