they have once elected."

"Was I loved thus?" she said, with an air of exalted beatitude.

"Yes, madame."

"I made his happiness?"

"For four years."

"A woman never hears of such a thing without a sentiment of proud
satisfaction," she said, turning her sweet and noble face to d'Arthez
with a movement full of modest confusion.

One of the most skilful manoeuvres of these actresses is to veil their
manner when words are too expressive, and speak with their eyes when
language is restrained. These clever discords, slipped into the music
of their love, be it false or true, produce irresistible attractions.

"Is it not," she said, lowering her voice and her eyes, after feeling
well assured they had produced her effect,--"is it not fulfilling
one's destiny to have rendered a great man happy?"

"Did he not write that to you?"

"Yes; but I wanted to be sure, quite sure; for, believe me, monsieur,
in putting me so high he was not mistaken."

Women know how to give a peculiar sacredness to their words; they
communicate something vibrant to them, which extends the meaning of