"Because, in the eyes of all who know you, your husband is esteemed even happier than yourself, since he possesses one so rich in every good gift; and yet is not he also much to be pitied? Can there be a more miserable existence than the one he leads? He has acted unfairly and selfishly towards you, but has he not been bitterly punished? He loves you with a passion, deep and sincere, worthy of you to have inspired, yet he knows that your only feeling towards him is insurmountable aversion and contempt. In his feeble, suffering child he beholds a constant reproach; nor is that all he is called upon to endure; jealousy also assails him with her nameless tortures."
"And how can I help that, my lord? By giving him no occasion for jealousy, you reply. And certainly you are right. But, think you, because no other person would possess my love, it would any the more be his? He knows full well it would not. Since the fearful scene I related to you, we have lived entirely apart, while in the eyes of the world I have kept up every necessary appearance of married happiness. With the exception of yourself, my lord, I have never breathed a syllable of this fatal secret to mortal ears: thus, therefore, I venture to ask advice of you I could not solicit from any human being."
"And I, madame, can with truth assure you that, if the trifling service I have rendered you be deemed worthy of notice, I hold myself a thousand times overpaid by the confidence you have reposed in me. But, since you deign to ask my advice, and permit me to speak candidly—"
"Oh, yes, my lord, I beseech you to use the frankness and sincerity you would show to a sister!"
"Then allow me to tell you that, for want of employing one of your most precious qualities, you lose vast enjoyments, which would not only fill up that void in your heart, but would distract you from your domestic sorrows and supply that need of stirring emotions, excitement, and," added the prince, smiling, "I dare almost to venture to add,—pray forgive me for having so bad an opinion of your sex,—that natural love for mystery and intrigue which exercises so powerful an empire over many, if not all, females."
"What do you mean, my lord?"
"I mean that, if you would play at the game of doing good, nothing would please or interest you more."
Madame d'Harville surveyed Rodolph with astonishment.
"And understand," resumed he, "I speak not of sending large sums carelessly, almost disdainfully, to unfortunate creatures, of whom you know nothing, and who are frequently undeserving of your favour. But if you would amuse yourself, as I do, at playing, from time to time, at the game of Providence, you would acknowledge that occasionally our good deeds put on all the piquancy and charms of a romance."
"I must confess, my lord," said Clémence, with a smile, "it never occurred to me to class charity under the head of amusements."