above　the　sea；　hoping　and　expecting　a　miraculous　draught。〃
  All　that　you　say　so　beautifully　about　the　family　has　my　approval。
  The　man　who　is　able　to　please　me；　and　of　whom　I　believe　myself
  worthy；　will　have　my　heart　and　my　life；with　the　consent　of　my
  parents；　for　I　will　neither　grieve　them；　nor　take　them　unawares：
  happily；　I　am　certain　of　reigning　over　them；　and；　besides；　they
  are　wholly　without　prejudice。　Indeed；　in　every　way；　I　feel　myself
  protected　against　any　delusions　in　my　dream。　I　have　built　the
  fortress　with　my　own　hands；　and　I　have　let　it　be　fortified　by　the
  boundless　devotion　of　those　who　watch　over　me　as　if　I　were　a
  treasure；not　that　I　am　unable　to　defend　myself　in　the　open；　if
  need　be；　for；　let　me　say；　circumstances　have　furnished　me　with
  armor　of　proof　on　which　is　engraved　the　word　〃Disdain。〃　I　have　the
  deepest　horror　of　all　that　is　calculating；of　all　that　is　not
  pure；　disinterested；　and　wholly　noble。　I　worship　the　beautiful；
  the　ideal；　without　being　romantic；　though　I　HAVE　been；　in　my　heart
  of　hearts；　in　my　dreams。　But　I　recognize　the　truth　of　the　various
  things；　just　even　to　vulgarity；　which　you　have　written　me　about
  Society　and　social　life。
  For　the　time　being　we　are；　and　we　can　only　be；　two　friends。　Why
  seek　an　unseen　friend？　you　ask。　Your　person　may　be　unknown　to　me；
  but　your　mind；　your　heart　I　KNOW；　they　please　me；　and　I　feel　an
  infinitude　of　thoughts　within　my　soul　which　need　a　man　of　genius
  for　their　confidant。　I　do　not　wish　the　poem　of　my　heart　to　be
  wasted；　I　would　have　it　known　to　you　as　it　is　to　God。　What　a
  precious　thing　is　a　true　comrade；　one　to　whom　we　can　tell　all！　You
  will　surely　not　reject　the　unpublished　leaflets　of　a　young　girl's
  thoughts　when　they　fly　to　you　like　the　pretty　insects　fluttering
  to　the　sun？　I　am　sure　you　have　never　before　met　with　this　good
  fortune　of　the　soul；the　honest　confidences　of　an　honest　girl。
  Listen　to　her　prattle；　accept　the　music　that　she　sings　to　you　in
  her　own　heart。　Later；　if　our　souls　are　sisters；　if　our　characters
  warrant　the　attempt；　a　white…haired　old　serving…man　shall　await
  you　by　the　wayside　and　lead　you　to　the　cottage；　the　villa；　the
  castle；　the　palaceI　don't　know　yet　what　sort　of　bower　it　will
  be；　nor　what　its　color；　nor　whether　this　conclusion　will　ever　be
  possible；　but　you　will　admit；　will　you　not？　that　it　is　poetic；　and
  that　Mademoiselle　d'Este　has　a　complying　disposition。　Has　she　not
  left　you　free？　Has　she　gone　with　jealous　feet　to　watch　you　in　the
  salons　of　Paris？　Has　she　imposed　upon　you　the　labors　of　some　high
  emprise；　such　as　paladins　sought　voluntarily　in　the　olden　time？
  No；　she　asks　a　perfectly　spiritual　and　mystic　alliance。　Come　to　me
  when　you　are　unhappy；　wounded；　weary。　Tell　me　all；　hide　nothing；　I
  have　balms　for　all　your　ills。　I　am　twenty　years　of　age；　dear
  friend；　but　I　have　the　sense　of　fifty；　and　unfortunately　I　have
  known　through　the　experience　of　another　all　the　horrors　and　the
  delights　of　love。　I　know　what　baseness　the　human　heart　can
  contain；　what　infamy；　yet　I　myself　am　an　honest　girl。　No；　I　have
  no　illusions；　but　I　have　something　better；　something　real；I　have
  beliefs　and　a　religion。　See！　I　open　the　ball　of　our　confidences。
  Whoever　I　marryprovided　I　choose　him　for　myselfmay　sleep　in
  peace　or　go　to　the　East　Indies　sure　that　he　will　find　me　on　his
  return　working　at　the　tapestry　which　I　began　before　he　left　me；
  and　in　every　stitch　he　shall　read　a　verse　of　the　poem　of　which　he
  has　been　the　hero。　Yes；　I　have　resolved　within　my　heart　never　to
  follow　my　husband　where　he　does　not　wish　me　to　go。　I　will　be　the
  divinity　of　his　hearth。　That　is　my　religion　of　humanity。　But　why
  should　I　not　test　and　choose　the　man　to　whom　I　am　to　be　like　the
  life　to　the　body？　Is　a　man　ever　impeded　by　life？　What　can　that
  woman　be　who　thwarts　the　man　she　loves？an　illness；　a　disease；
  not　life。　By　life；　I　mean　that　joyous　health　which　makes　each　hour
  a　pleasure。
  But　to　return　to　your　letter；　which　will　always　be　precious　to　me。
  Yes；　jesting　apart；　it　contains　that　which　I　desired；　an
  expression　of　prosaic　sentiments　which　are　as　necessary　to　family
  life　as　air　to　the　lungs；　and　without　which　no　happiness　is
  possible。　To　act　as　an　honest　man；　to　think　as　a　poet；　to　love　as
  women　love；　that　is　what　I　longed　for　in　my　friend；　and　it　is　now
  no　longer　a　chimera。
  Adieu；　my　friend。　I　am　poor　at　this　moment。　That　is　one　of　the
  reasons　why　I　cling　to　my　concealment；　my　mask；　my　impregnable
  fortress。　I　have　read　your　last　verses　in　the　〃Revue；〃ah！　with
  what　delight；　now　that　I　am　initiated　in　the　austere　loftiness　of
  your　secret　soul。
  Will　it　make　you　unhappy　to　know　that　a　young　girl　prays　for　you；
  that　you　are　her　solitary　thought；without　a　rival　except　in　her
  father　and　mother？　Can　there　be　any　reason　why　you　should　reject
  these　pages　full　of　you；　written　for　you；　seen　by　no　eye　but
  yours？　Send　me　their　counterpart。　I　am　so　little　of　a　woman　yet
  that　your　confidencesprovided　they　are　full　and　truewill
  suffice　for　the　happiness　of　your
  O。　d'Este　M。
  〃Good　heavens！　can　I　be　in　love　already？〃　cried　the　young　secretary；
  when　he　perceived　that　he　had　held　the　above　letter　in　his　hands　more
  than　an　hour　after　reading　it。　〃What　shall　I　do？　She　thinks　she　is
  writing　to　the　great　poet！　Can　I　continue　the　deception？　Is　she　a
  woman　of　forty；　or　a　girl　of　twenty？〃
  Ernest　was　now　fascinated　by　the　great　gulf　of　the　unseen。　The　unseen
  is　the　obscurity　of　infinitude；　and　nothing　is　more　alluring。　In　that
  sombre　vastness　fires　flash；　and　furrow　and　color　the　abyss　with
  fancies　like　those　of　Martin。　For　a　busy　man　like　Canalis；　an
  adventure　of　this　kind　is　swept　away　like　a　harebell　by　a　mountain
  torrent；　but　in　the　more　unoccupied　life　of　the　young　secretary；　this
  charming　girl；　whom　his　imagination　persistently　connected　with　the
  blonde　beauty　at　the　window；　fastened　upon　his　heart；　and　did　as　much
  mischief　in　his　regulated　life　as　a　fox　in　a　poultry…yard。　La　Briere
  allowed　himself　to　be　preoccupied　by　this　mysterious　correspondent；
  and　he　answered　her　last　letter　with　another；　a　pretentious　and
  carefully　studied　epistle；　in　which；　however；　passion　begins　to　reveal
  itself　through　pique。
  Mademoiselle；Is　it　quite　loyal　in　you　to　enthrone　yourself　in
  the　heart　of　a　poor　poet　with　a　latent　intention　of　abandoning　him
  if　he　is　not　exactly　what　you　wish；　leaving　him　to　endless
  regrets；showing　him　for　a　moment　an　image　of　perfection；　were　it
  only　assumed；　and　at　any　rate　giving　him　a　foretaste　of　happiness？
  I　was　very　short…sighted　in　soliciting　this　letter；　in　which　you
  have　begun　to　unfold　the　elegant　fabric　of　your　thoughts。　A　man
  can　easily　become　enamored　with　a　mysterious　unknown　who　combines
  such　fearlessness　with　such　originality；　so　much　imagination　with
  so　much　feeling。　Who　would　not　wish　to　know　you　after　reading　your
  first　confidence？　It　requires　a　strong　effort　on　my　part　to　retain
  my　senses　in　thinking　of　you；　for　you　combine　all　that　can　trouble
  the　head　or　the　heart　of　man。　I　therefore　make　the　most　of　the
  little　self…possession　you　have　left　me　to　offer　you　my　humble
  remonstrances。
  Do　you　really　believe；　mademoiselle；　that　letters；　more　or　less
  true　in　relation　to　the　life　of　the　writers；　more　or　less
  insincere；for　those　which　we　write　to　each　other　are　the
  expressions　of　the　moment　at　which　we　pen　them；　and　not　of　the
  general　tenor　of　our　lives；do　you　believe；　I　say；　that　beautiful
  as　they　may　be；　they　can　at　all　replace　the　representation　that　we
  could　make　of　ourselves　to　each　other　by　the　revelations　of　daily
  intercourse？　Man　is　dual。　There　is　a　life　invisible；　that　of　the
  heart；　to　which　letters　may　suffice；　and　there　is　a　life　material；
  to　which　more　importance　is；　alas；　attached　than　you　are　aware　of
  at　your　age。　These　two　existences　must；　however；　be　made　to
  harmonize　in　the　ideal　which　you　cherish；　and　this；　I　may　remark
  in　passing；　is　very　rare。
  The　pure；　spontaneous；　disinterested　homage　of　a　solitary　soul
  which　is　both　educated　and　chaste；　is　one　of　those　celestial
  flowers　whose　color　and　fragrance　console　for　every　grief；　for
  every　wound；　for　every　betrayal　which　makes　up　the　life　of　a
  literary　man；　and　I　thank　you　with　an　impulse　equal　to　your　own。
  But　after　this　poetical　exchange　of　my　griefs　for　the　pearls　of
  your　charity；　what　next？　what　do　you　expect？　I　have　neither　the
  genius　nor　the　splendid　position　of　Lord　Byron；　above　all；　I　have
  not　the　halo　of　his　fictitious　damnation　and　his　false　social
  woes。　But　what　could　you　have　hoped　from　him　in　like
  circumstances？　His　friendship？　Well；　he　who　ought　to　have　felt
  only　pride　was　eaten　up　by　vanity　of　every　kind；sickly；
  irritable　v