I perceive that I am not setting down my true opinion of Mme. Mairieux. She showed on every occasion that power of adaption to circumstances which is characteristic of happy natures. When the time arrived to leave Compiègne, where she enjoyed herself, I know that she did not protest, and physical ills she always faced with courage. Without doubt she loved, and still loves, glittering, stirring, noisy things; many women have the same taste. She is perfectly good and loyal. If she has never suspected the martyrdom which exhausted and then slowly killed her daughter, I cannot forget that even this lack of comprehension has perhaps helped to save me from despair by making me doubt the extent of my culpability. For her I have remained a sort of god, to whom everything is permitted, who has the right to be an unscrupulous egotist, for no other reason than because he is. Although she sometimes bores me with her trivial worldliness, which was strong enough to survive Raymonde’s death, and which will last as long as she herself does, now that I know her thoroughly, her affection touches me. My marriage only flattered her maternal pride. She has retained this somewhat childish feeling, and I cannot bear her a grudge for it. As for M. Mairieux, although our mutual sorrow has not brought us closer together--for he has divined its cause--what can I write here that will be worthy of my respect for him? His sensitive pride, which at that time prevented his accepting my invitations to the chateau and later caused him to reject, with a certain excess of resolution, offers from a son-in-law whose highest wish was to be taken for a son; the uprightness and nobility of his character, even the courtesy which enabled him to maintain unaffectedly the proper distance between us, should have enlightened me as to his ancient lineage and the superiority of his nature; matters to which, at that time, my thoughtlessness attached no importance. The firmness underlying his kindliness, the adoration which he bestowed upon his daughter and afterwards extended to Dilette; his generosity, which permitted him to appear to attribute my ill-omened work to the fates rather than to myself, by virtue perhaps, of the unfortunate lesson he had received in his own life of the differences of taste and feelings;--all that I venerate in him brings me closer to the memory of my dear Raymonde. * * * Little by little, during our rides together, I saw Raymonde’s shyness and reticence melt, like the mist which rises from the earth when the dew evaporates in the light of a beautiful morning.