[REFLECTIONS]
Wholly absorbed by the surprise and terror awakened by the accusations of her husband, Madame de Hansfeld, during the late conversation between herself and the prince, had thought only of clearing herself from the foul charges brought against her; but, once left to her own thoughts, she began deeply and profoundly to reflect upon the events of the last hour. Her first feeling was that of strong indignation against the man who could for one instant have believed her capable of crimes so heinous; but this first burst of displeasure soon gave place to a grateful sense of the generous forbearance which had so carefully concealed her supposed guilt from the world. A mind less noble and considerate would have blazoned forth those suspicions, to which a train of singular circumstances lent so apparent a reality. And then, by a sudden change of ideas, the words of M. de Morville rose to her recollection, as though for ever and indelibly impressed on her brain,—
"There can be nothing propitious in my love for you, until I dare hope to obtain your hand."
In the present state of Madame de Hansfeld's mind, these words appeared to have a deep, strange, and thrilling connexion with the terrible accusations of her husband.
Supposing that the mysterious attempts upon the prince's life had succeeded, she would then have been free—free to bestow herself upon the object of her ardent passion, and by so doing secure his happiness as well as her own.
As yet the heart of Paula had cherished no sentiment unworthy her position as a wife; but how frequently have the purest-minded, the noblest-hearted persons allowed themselves to be tempted and beguiled, for a short period, by thoughts which, without assuming the form of desires, but merely presenting themselves as suppositions, would, if realised, have assuredly produced the blackest crimes!
How many gentle and resigned females, constrained to bear the most cruel and brutal usage from husbands, who might well be won to better conduct by the angelic patience of their heart-broken partners, have involuntarily exclaimed, "Ah me! why did I not choose a generous, noble-minded man, instead of such a tyrant as fate has given me?" There is nothing murderous in this perhaps involuntary regret, which expresses neither the hope nor expectation of seeing an end to the daily tortures the unoffending victim endures; and yet in this simple sentiment is contained the germ of passions that might lead to crime—even to murder itself; it is the natural instinct of self-preservation, aware of imminent danger from which it seeks the means of escaping.
With many, whose trials and sufferings have called forth the bitter exclamation before alluded to, the burst of feeling ends there; they submit to their destiny, which henceforth presents one long unbroken path of sighs and tears.
While others, endowed either with more acute and susceptible feelings, or a smaller share of resignation, relieve their oppressed hearts by crying, "Oh were I but free from my chains and him who thus enforces my slavery!"
While some, more desperate or more outraged, will call upon the friendly aid of death to release them from the thraldom of their tyrant!