on earth, save fortune, or power, or both; and that fine qualities must give way to circumstances. He practised on this theory cleverly enough; his only mistake lay in proclaiming it; but though he had not the national wish to please, he nevertheless desired to create some sensation, and that rendered him thus imprudent: he differed in these respects from Madame d'Arbigny, who sought to attain her end without betraying herself, or seeking to shine, even in her errors. What was most strange in these two persons is, that the ardent one could keep her secret, while the insensible knew not how to hold his tongue. Such as he was, Maltigues had a great ascendency over his relative; either he guessed it, or she told him all; for even from her habitual wariness, she required, now and then, to take breath, as it were, by an indiscretion. If Maltigues looked on her severely, she was always disturbed; if he seemed discontented, she would take him aside to ask the reason; if he went away angry, she almost instantly shut herself up to write to him. I explained this to myself from the fact of his having known her from her childhood; he had managed her affairs since she had lost all nearer ties; but the chief cause was her project, which I discovered too late, of marrying him, if I left her; for at no price would she pass for a deserted woman. Such a resolution might make you believe that she loved me not; yet love alone could have induced her preference: but through life she could mix calculation even with passion, and the factitious pretences of society with her natural feelings. She wept when she was agitated, but she could also weep because that was the way to express emotion. She was happy in being loved, because she loved, but also because it did her honor before the world. She had right impulses while left to herself, but could only enjoy them when they were rendered profitable to her self-love. She was a person formed for and by 'good company,' and made that false use even of truth itself, which is so often found in a country where a zeal for producing effect, by certain sentiments, is much stronger than the sentiments themselves. It was long since I had heard from my father, the war having cut off all communication. At last, chance favored the arrival of a letter,[3] in which he adjured me to return, in the name of my duty and his affection; at the same time declaring that, if I married Madame d'Arbigny, I should cause him the most fatal sorrow; begging me, at least, to decide on nothing until I had heard his advice. I replied to him instantly, giving my word of honor that I would shortly do as he required. Madame d'Arbigny tried, first prayers, then despondence, to detain me; and finding these fail, resorted to a fresh stratagem; but how could I then suspect it? She came to me one morning pale and dishevelled, threw herself into my arms as if dying with terror, and besought me to protect her. The order, she said,