And if, in spite of that most exhaustive and satisfactory proof, the thing proved remained not much more true than the thing disproved--why, it is not my fault. For Love has a virtue of oblivion--yes, and a better still: that which is past he, exceeding in power all Olympus besides, makes as though it had never been, never could have been, and was from the first entirely impossible, absurd, and inconceivable. And for an instance of what I say--if indeed a further example than my own be needed, which should not be the case--let us look at the Duchess of Saint-Maclou herself. For, if I were half in love with the duchess, which I by no means admit, modesty shall not blind me from holding that the duchess was as good a half in love with me. Yet, when I had been married to Marie Delhasse some six months, I received a letter from my good friend Gustave de Berensac, informing me of his approaching union with Mme. de Saint-Maclou. And, if I might judge from Gustave's letter, he repudiated utterly the idea which I have ventured to suggest concerning the duchess. Two other facts Gustave mentioned--both of them, I think, with a touch of apology. The first was that the duchess, being unable to endure the horrible associations now indissolubly connected with the Cardinal's Necklace, of which she had become owner for the term of her life-- "What? Won't she wear it?" asked my wife at this point: she was (as wives will) leaning over my shoulder as I read the letter. It was what I also had expected to read; but what I did read was that the duchess, ingeniously contriving to save both her feelings and her diamonds, had caused the stones to be set in a tiara--"which," continued Gustave (I am sure he was much in love) "will not have any of the unpleasant associations connected with the necklace." And the second fact? It was this--just this, though it was wrapped up in all the roundabout phrases and softened by all the polite expressions of friendship of which Gustave was master,--yet just this,--that he was not in a position to invite myself and my wife to the wedding! For the little duchess, consistent to the end, in spite of his entreaties and protests, had resolutely and entirely declined to receive Mrs. Aycon! I finished the letter and looked up at Marie. And Marie, looking thoughtfully down at the paper, observed: "I always told you that she was fond of you, you know."