Letters of Two Brides

We are only rich when our wealth is buried so deep that all the world

might trample it under foot, unknowing. If you were handsome, I don't

suppose I should have looked at you twice, or discovered one of the

thousand reasons out of which my love sprang. True, we know no more of

these reasons than we know why it is the sun makes the flowers to

bloom, and ripens the fruit. Yet I could tell you of one reason very

dear to me.

The character, expression, and individuality that ennoble your face

are a sealed book to all but me. Mine is the power which transforms

you into the most lovable of men, and that is why I would keep your

mental gifts also for myself. To others they should be as meaningless

as your eyes, the charm of your mouth and features. Let it be mine

alone to kindle the beacon of your intelligence, as I bring the

lovelight into your eyes. I would have you the Spanish grandee of old

days, cold, ungracious, haughty, a monument to be gazed at from afar,

like the ruins of some barbaric power, which no one ventures to

explore. Now, you have nothing better to do than to open up pleasant

promenades for the public, and show yourself of a Parisian affability!

Is my ideal portrait, then, forgotten? Your excessive cheerfulness was

redolent of your love. Had it not been for a restraining glance from

me, you would have proclaimed to the most sharp-sighted, keen-witted,

and unsparing of Paris salons, that your inspiration was drawn from

Armande-Louise-Marie de Chaulieu.

I believe in your greatness too much to think for a moment that your

love is ruled by policy; but if you did not show a childlike

simplicity when with me, I could only pity you. Spite of this first

fault, you are still deeply admired by

LOUISE DE CHAULIEU.