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one day lose his poor father。 Keep my secrets as the grave will keep
them。 Do not mourn for me； I have been dead this many a day； if Saint
Bernard was right in saying that where there is no more love there is
no more life。' 〃
〃And the Countess died；〃 said the Consul； putting away the letters and
locking the pocket…book。
〃Is the Count still living？〃 asked the Ambassador； 〃for since the
revolution of July he has disappeared from the political stage。〃
〃Do you remember； Monsieur de Lora；〃 said the Consul…General； 〃having
seen me going to the steamboat with〃
〃A white…haired man！ an old man？〃 said the painter。
〃An old man of forty…five； going in search of health and amusement in
Southern Italy。 That old man was my poor friend； my patron； passing
through Genoa to take leave of me and place his will in my hands。 He
appoints me his son's guardian。 I had no occasion to tell him of
Honorine's wishes。〃
〃Does he suspect himself of murder？〃 said Mademoiselle des Touches to
the Baron de l'Hostal。
〃He suspects the truth；〃 replied the Consul； 〃and that is what is
killing him。 I remained on board the steam packet that was to take him
to Naples till it was out of the roadstead； a small boat brought me
back。 We sat for some little time taking leave of each otherfor
ever； I fear。 God only knows how much we love the confidant of our
love when she who inspired it is no more。
〃 'That man；' said Octave； 'holds a charm and wears an aureole。' the
Count went to the prow and looked down on the Mediterranean。 It
happened to be fine； and； moved no doubt by the spectacle； he spoke
these last words： 'Ought we not； in the interests of human nature； to
inquire what is the irresistible power which leads us to sacrifice an
exquisite creature to the most fugitive of all pleasures； and in spite
of our reason？ In my conscience I heard cries。 Honorine was not alone
in her anguish。 And yet I would have it！ 。 。 。 I am consumed by
remorse。 In the Rue Payenne I was dying of the joys I had not； now I
shall die in Italy of the joys I have had。 。 。 。 Wherein lay the
discord between two natures； equally noble； I dare assert？' 〃
For some minutes profound silence reigned on the terrace。
Then the Consul； turning to the two women； asked； 〃Was she virtuous？〃
Mademoiselle des Touches rose； took the Consul's arm； went a few steps
away； and said to him：
〃Are not men wrong too when they come to us and make a young girl a
wife while cherishing at the bottom of their heart some angelic image；
and comparing us to those unknown rivals； to perfections often
borrowed from a remembrance； and always finding us wanting？〃
〃Mademoiselle； you would be right if marriage were based on passion；
and that was the mistake of those two； who will soon be no more。
Marriage with heart…deep love on both sides would be Paradise。〃
Mademoiselle des Touches turned from the Consul； and was immediately
joined by Claude Vignon； who said in her ear：
〃A bit of a coxcomb is M。 de l'Hostal。〃
〃No；〃 replied she； whispering to Claude these words： 〃for he has not
yet guessed that Honorine would have loved him。Oh！〃 she exclaimed；
seeing the Consul's wife approaching； 〃his wife was listening！ Unhappy
man！〃
Eleven was striking by all the clocks； and the guests went home on
foot along the seashore。
〃Still； that is not life；〃 said Mademoiselle des Touches。 〃That woman
was one of the rarest； and perhaps the most extraordinary exceptions
in intellecta pearl！ Life is made up of various incidents； of pain
and pleasure alternately。 The Paradise of Dante； that sublime
expression of the ideal； that perpetual blue； is to be found only in
the soul； to ask it of the facts of life is a luxury against which
nature protests every hour。 To such souls as those the six feet of a
cell； and the kneeling chair are all they need。〃
〃You are right；〃 said Leon de Lora； 〃but good…for…nothing as I may be；
I cannot help admiring a woman who is capable； as that one was； of
living by the side of a studio； under a painter's roof； and never
coming down； nor seeing the world； nor dipping her feet in the street
mud。〃
〃Such a thing has been knownfor a few months；〃 said Claude Vignon；
with deep irony。
〃Comtesse Honorine is not unique of her kind；〃 replied the Ambassador
to Mademoiselle des Touches。 〃A man； nay； and a politician； a bitter
writer； was the object of such a passion； and the pistol shot which
killed him hit not him alone； the woman who loved lived like a nun
ever after。〃
〃Then there are yet some great souls in this age！〃 said Camille
Maupin； and she stood for some minutes pensively leaning on the
balustrade of the quay。
End