Shall I say that I waited almost with anxiety Madame de Fersen's reply, to know whether she also would whisper back to me?
Shall I say that I was happy, oh, so very happy to hear her reply in the same tone?
"May you be a true prophet," she said; "may she be happy!"
"I could not tell her all I could foresee, madame, she would not have understood; but will you permit me to tell you what I would dream for her?"
"Certainly."
"Well, then, madame, let us not speak of the happiness which is assured to her so long as she lives by your side; that would be too easy a prophecy. Let us speak of the moment so cruel to a mother's heart, when she must abandon her idolised child to the care of an unknown family, of an unknown man. Poor mother! she can scarcely believe it. Her daughter, so timid, so retiring, so sensitive a nature, that to her mother alone she spoke without blushing, and with joyous assurance! Her daughter,—whom she has never left by day or by night! Her daughter,—her pride, her care, her solicitude, and her glory! Her daughter,—that angel of grace and candour, whom she alone can understand, whose joys and sorrows, susceptibility and diffidence she alone can divine! She is now in the power of a stranger, one who has ingratiated himself solely by coming daily for two months under the eyes of her parents to talk to her of conventional trifles, or, perhaps, of the duty that a wife owes her husband. They are now united; and here, madame, I spare you the horribly vulgar and suggestive pageantry with which we lead a young girl to the altar, under the eyes of an unblushing crowd, with great parade, in the glare of daylight, and with the blare of music and of pomp. In Otähiti they act with more modesty, or at least with more reserve. At length, after the ceremony, this man carries off his prey to his home, saying, 'Follow me, wife!' Well, madame, should my predictions be realised, he who before God and before men would have the right to say so harshly to your daughter, 'Wife, follow me!' should rather say to her, in a soft, timid, supplicating voice, 'Come, my betrothed!'"
Madame de Fersen looked at me with astonishment.
"Yes, madame, above all, that man will respect with pious adoration, with religious veneration, the chastely sublime terror of the maiden, torn from her mother's arms, from her virgin couch, to be thrown suddenly in a strange household. That deep and instinctive fear, that sorrowful regret which his wife feels, he will calm by degrees, with charming attention, with simple kindness, which will tame that poor shrinking heart. He will know how to make himself beloved as the best of brothers, in the hope of being some day the happiest of lovers."
"What a pity that dream is only a charming folly!" said Madame de Fersen, with a sigh.
"Is it not a pity? Confess that nothing would be more adorable than the mysterious phases of such a love, exalted as hope, passionate as desire, and yet legitimate and authorised. The day on which the young wife, after a prolonged courtship, inspired by passion, should confirm by a tender avowal those rights so ardently desired, which her husband would accept solely from her,—that day would be treasured in her heart as an entrancing and enduring memory. When she had thus freely bestowed herself she would find later that the gallantry and temptations of the world pale before the memory of that dazzling, ardent happiness ever present to her mind. Such a memory would assuredly protect a woman from all sinful allurements, which could never offer to her the ineffable rapture which she had found in a sacred and legitimate union."