Standing alone beside my window, One morning as the day was breaking, I saw at my left hand Aurora To Phœbus pointing out his daily road; And on the other hand my sweetheart combing Her golden locks; I saw her beaming eyes That shone so lovingly upon me, That I was fain to cry aloud: "Immortal Gods! return to your abodes celestial, Her loveliness doth put yours to the blush."] [Footnote 6: "Je dis beau, c'est bon que je devrais dire."] XIV WHEREIN IT IS PROVEN THAT SORROW IS THE GROUNDWORK OF THE LIFE OF MAN We ask pardon for the bitter misanthropy of this title. It is the fact that the present chapter will exhibit scarcely any other coherent principle than sorrow, and therein will resemble life. The reflection is not new, as a celebrated character in comic opera would say, but it is consoling, in that it will perhaps he accepted as an apology by the reader, whom we are about to lead, even as Virgil led Dante, from despair to despair. No offence is intended either to the reader or to Virgil. Our friends, in very truth, at the moment at which we have now arrived, mere all, beginning with Benvenuto and ending with Jacques Aubry, plunged in melancholy, and we are about to see them gradually engulfed in the dark rising tide of sorrow. We left Benvenuto exceedingly anxious concerning Ascanio's condition. On his return to the Grand-Nesle, he thought but little of the wrath of Madame d'Etampes, I promise you. His sole preoccupation was his dear invalid. So it was that his joy knew no hounds when the door opened to give admission to a litter, and Ascanio, leaping lightly to the ground, grasped his hand, and assured him that he was no worse than in the morning. But Benvenuto's brow quickly grew dark at the apprentice's first words, and he listened with an expression of peculiar dissatisfaction while the younger man said:-- "Master, I propose to show you that you have done a wrong for which you must make amends, and I am sure that you will thank me instead of hearing me ill will for it. You are mistaken with relation to Madame d'Etampes; she neither despises nor hates you; on the contrary, she honors and admires you, and you must agree that you were very rude in your treatment of her,--a woman and a duchess. Master, Madame d'Etampes is not only as beautiful as a goddess, she is as kind as an angel, modest and enthusiastic, simple-minded and noble, and at heart her disposition is lovely. What you deemed insulting insolence this morning was nothing more than childish mischief. I implore you, for your own sake--you surely would not be unjust--as well as for mine, whom she made welcome and cared for with such touching kindness, not to persist in your insulting contempt for her. I will answer for it that you will have no difficulty in persuading her--But you do not answer me, dear master. You shake your head. Can it be that I have wounded you?"