The　letter　you　have　read　from　Madame　de　Mortsauf　（a　light　which　still
  shone　brightly　on　my　life）；　a　proof　of　how　the　most　virtuous　of　women
  obeyed　the　genius　of　a　Frenchwoman；　revealing；　as　it　did；　her
  perpetual　vigilance；　her　sound　understanding　of　all　my　prospectsthat
  letter　must　have　made　you　see　with　what　care　Henriette　had　studied　my
  material　interests；　my　political　relations；　my　moral　conquests；　and
  with　what　ardor　she　took　hold　of　my　life　in　all　permissible
  directions。　On　such　points　as　these　Lady　Dudley　affected　the　reticence
  of　a　mere　acquaintance。　She　never　informed　herself　about　my　affairs；
  nor　of　my　likings　or　dislikings　as　a　man。　Prodigal　for　herself　without
  being　generous；　she　separated　too　decidedly　self…interest　and　love。
  Whereas　I　knew　very　well；　without　proving　it；　that　to　save　me　a　pang
  Henriette　would　have　sought　for　me　that　which　she　would　never　seek　for
  herself。　In　any　great　and　overwhelming　misfortune　I　should　have　gone
  for　counsel　to　Henriette；　but　I　would　have　let　myself　be　dragged　to
  prison　sooner　than　say　a　word　to　Lady　Dudley。
  Up　to　this　point　the　contrast　relates　to　feelings；　but　it　was　the　same
  in　outward　things。　In　France；　luxury　is　the　expression　of　the　man；　the
  reproduction　of　his　ideas；　of　his　personal　poetry；　it　portrays　the
  character；　and　gives；　between　lovers；　a　precious　value　to　every　little
  attention　by　keeping　before　them　the　dominant　thought　of　the　being
  loved。　But　English　luxury；　which　at　first　allured　me　by　its　choiceness
  and　delicacy；　proved　to　be　mechanical　also。　The　thousand　and　one
  attentions　shown　me　at　Clochegourde　Arabella　would　have　considered　the
  business　of　servants；　each　one　had　his　own　duty　and　speciality。　The
  choice　of　the　footman　was　the　business　of　her　butler；　as　if　it　were　a
  matter　of　horses。　She　never　attached　herself　to　her　servants；　the
  death　of　the　best　of　them　would　not　have　affected　her；　for　money　could
  replace　the　one　lost　by　another　equally　efficient。　As　to　her　duty
  towards　her　neighbor；　I　never　saw　a　tear　in　her　eye　for　the
  misfortunes　of　another；　in　fact　her　selfishness　was　so　naively　candid
  that　it　absolutely　created　a　laugh。　The　crimson　draperies　of　the　great
  lady　covered　an　iron　nature。　The　delightful　siren　who　sounded　at　night
  every　bell　of　her　amorous　folly　could　soon　make　a　young　man　forget　the
  hard　and　unfeeling　Englishwoman；　and　it　was　only　step　by　step　that　I
  discovered　the　stony　rock　on　which　my　seeds　were　wasted；　bringing　no
  harvest。　Madame　de　Mortsauf　had　penetrated　that　nature　at　a　glance　in
  their　brief　encounter。　I　remembered　her　prophetic　words。　She　was
  right；　Arabella's　love　became　intolerable　to　me。　I　have　since　remarked
  that　most　women　who　ride　well　on　horseback　have　little　tenderness。
  Like　the　Amazons；　they　lack　a　breast；　their　hearts　are　hard　in　some
  direction；　but　I　do　not　know　in　which。
  At　the　moment　when　I　begin　to　feel　the　burden　of　the　yoke；　when
  weariness　took　possession　of　soul　and　body　too；　when　at　last　I
  comprehended　the　sanctity　that　true　feeling　imparts　to　love；　when
  memories　of　Clochegourde　were　bringing　me；　in　spite　of　distance；　the
  fragrance　of　the　roses；　the　warmth　of　the　terrace；　and　the　warble　of
  the　nightingales；at　this　frightful　moment；　when　I　saw　the　stony　bed
  beneath　me　as　the　waters　of　the　torrent　receded；　I　received　a　blow
  which　still　resounds　in　my　heart；　for　at　every　hour　its　echo　wakes。
  I　was　working　in　the　cabinet　of　the　king；　who　was　to　drive　out　at　four
  o'clock。　The　Duc　de　Lenoncourt　was　on　service。　When　he　entered　the
  room　the　king　asked　him　news　of　the　countess。　I　raised　my　head　hastily
  in　too　eager　a　manner；　the　king；　offended　by　the　action；　gave　me　the
  look　which　always　preceded　the　harsh　words　he　knew　so　well　how　to　say。
  〃Sire；　my　poor　daughter　is　dying；〃　replied　the　duke。
  〃Will　the　king　deign　to　grant　me　leave　of　absence？〃　I　cried；　with
  tears　in　my　eyes；　braving　the　anger　which　I　saw　about　to　burst。
  〃Go；　MY　LORD；〃　he　answered；　smiling　at　the　satire　in　his　words；　and
  withholding　his　reprimand　in　favor　of　his　own　wit。
  More　courtier　than　father；　the　duke　asked　no　leave　but　got　into　the
  carriage　with　the　king。　I　started　without　bidding　Lady　Dudley　good…
  bye；　she　was　fortunately　out　when　I　made　my　preparations；　and　I　left　a
  note　telling　her　I　was　sent　on　a　mission　by　the　king。　At　the　Croix　de
  Berny　I　met　his　Majesty　returning　from　Verrieres。　He　threw　me　a　look
  full　of　his　royal　irony；　always　insufferable　in　meaning；　which　seemed
  to　say：　〃If　you　mean　to　be　anything　in　politics　come　back；　don't
  parley　with　the　dead。〃　The　duke　waved　his　hand　to　me　sadly。　The　two
  pompous　equipages　with　their　eight　horses；　the　colonels　and　their　gold
  lace；　the　escort　and　the　clouds　of　dust　rolled　rapidly　away；　to　cries
  of　〃Vive　le　Roi！〃　It　seemed　to　me　that　the　court　had　driven　over　the
  dead　body　of　Madame　de　Mortsauf　with　the　utter　insensibility　which
  nature　shows　for　our　catastrophes。　Though　the　duke　was　an　excellent
  man　he　would　no　doubt　play　whist　with　Monsieur　after　the　king　had
  retired。　As　for　the　duchess；　she　had　long　ago　given　her　daughter　the
  first　stab　by　writing　to　her　of　Lady　Dudley。
  My　hurried　journey　was　like　a　dream；the　dream　of　a　ruined　gambler；　I
  was　in　despair　at　having　received　no　news。　Had　the　confessor　pushed
  austerity　so　far　as　to　exclude　me　from　Clochegourde？　I　accused
  Madeleine；　Jacques；　the　Abbe　Dominis；　all；　even　Monsieur　de　Mortsauf。
  Beyond　Tours；　as　I　came　down　the　road　bordered　with　poplars　which
  leads　to　Poncher；　which　I　so　much　admired　that　first　day　of　my　search
  for　mine　Unknown；　I　met　Monsieur　Origet。　He　guessed　that　I　was　going
  to　Clochegourde；　I　guessed　that　he　was　returning。　We　stopped　our
  carriages　and　got　out；　I　to　ask　for　news；　he　to　give　it。
  〃How　is　Madame　de　Mortsauf？〃　I　said。
  〃I　doubt　if　you　find　her　living；〃　he　replied。　〃She　is　dying　a
  frightful　deathof　inanition。　When　she　called　me　in；　last　June；　no
  medical　power　could　control　the　disease；　she　had　the　symptoms　which
  Monsieur　de　Mortsauf　has　no　doubt　described　to　you；　for　he　thinks　he
  has　them　himself。　Madame　la　comtesse　was　not　in　any　transient
  condition　of　ill…health；　which　our　profession　can　direct　and　which　is
  often　the　cause　of　a　better　state；　nor　was　she　in　the　crisis　of　a
  disorder　the　effects　of　which　can　be　repaired；　no；　her　disease　had
  reached　a　point　where　science　is　useless；　it　is　the　incurable　result
  of　grief；　just　as　a　mortal　wound　is　the　result　of　a　stab。　Her　physical
  condition　is　produced　by　the　inertia　of　an　organ　as　necessary　to　life
  as　the　action　of　the　heart　itself。　Grief　has　done　the　work　of　a
  dagger。　Don't　deceive　yourself；　Madame　de　Mortsauf　is　dying　of　some
  hidden　grief。〃
  〃Hidden！〃　I　exclaimed。　〃Her　children　have　not　been　ill？〃
  〃No；〃　he　said；　looking　at　me　significantly；　〃and　since　she　has　been　so
  seriously　attacked　Monsieur　de　Mortsauf　has　ceased　to　torment　her。　I
  am　no　longer　needed；　Monsieur　Deslandes　of　Azay　is　all…sufficient；
  nothing　can　be　done；　her　sufferings　are　dreadful。　Young；　beautiful；
  and　rich；　to　die　emaciated；　shrunken　with　hungerfor　she　dies　of
  hunger！　During　the　last　forty　days　the　stomach；　being　as　it　were
  closed　up；　has　rejected　all　nourishment；　under　whatever　form　we
  attempt　to　give　it。〃
  Monsieur　Origet　pressed　my　hand　with　a　gesture　of　respect。
  〃Courage；　monsieur；〃　he　said；　lifting　his　eyes　to　heaven。
  The　words　expressed　his　compassion　for　sufferings　he　thought　shared；
  he　little　suspected　the　poisoned　arrow　which　they　shot　into　my　heart。
  I　sprang　into　the　carriage　and　ordered　the　postilion　to　drive　on；
  promising　a　good　reward　if　I　arrived　in　time。
  Notwithstanding　my　impatience　I　seemed　to　do　the　distance　in　a　few
  minutes；　so　absorbed　was　I　in　the　bitter　reflections　that　crowded　upon
  my　soul。　Dying　of　grief；　yet　her　children　were　well？　then　she　died
  through　me！　My　conscience　uttered　one　of　those　arraignments　which　echo
  throughout　our　lives　and　sometimes　beyond　them。　What　weakness；　what
  impotence　in　human　justice；　which　avenges　none　but　open　deeds！　Why
  shame　and　death　to　the　murderer　who　kills　with　a　blow；　who　comes　upon
  you　unawares　in　your　sleep　and　makes　it　last　eternally；　who　strikes
  without　warning　and　spares　you　a　struggle？　Why　a　happy　life；　an
  honored　life；　to　the　murderer　who　drop　by　drop　pours　gall　into　the
  soul　and　saps　the　body　to　destroy　it？　How　many　murderers　go
  unpunished！　What　indulgence　for　fashionable　vice！　What　condoning　of
  the　homicides　caused　by　moral　wrongs！　I　know　not　whose　avenging　hand
  it　was　that　suddenly；　at　that　moment；　raised　the　painted　curtain　that
  reveals　society。　I　saw　before　me　many　victims　known　to　you　and　me；
  Madame　de　Beauseant；　dying；　and　starting　for　Normandy　only　a　few　days
  earlier；　the　Duchesse　de　Langeais　lost；　Lady　Brandon　hiding　herself　in
  Touraine　in　the　little　house　where　Lady　Dudley　had　stayed　two　weeks；
  and　dying　there；　killed　by　a　frightful　catastrophe；you　know　it。　Our
  period　teems　with　such　events。　Who　do