treated her with the indulgence of a mother for a spoilt child. His
constant toil served him as shield and buckler against pangs of heart
which he silenced with the care that diplomatists give to the keeping
of secrets. He knew, moreover, how ridiculous was jealousy in the eyes
of a society that would never have believed in the conjugal passion of
an old statesman. How happened it that from the earliest days of his
marriage his wife so fascinated him? Why did he suffer without
resistance? How was it that he dared not resist? Why did he let the
years go by and still hope on? By what means did this young and pretty
and clever woman hold him in bondage?

The answer to all these questions would require a long history, which
would injure our present tale. Let us only remark here that the
constant toil and grief of the count had unfortunately contributed not
a little to deprive him of personal advantages very necessary to a man
who attempts to struggle against dangerous comparisons. In fact, the
most cruel of the count's secret sorrows was that of causing
repugnance to his wife by a malady of the skin resulting solely from
excessive labor. Kind, and always considerate of the countess, he
allowed her to be mistress of herself and her home. She received all
Paris; she went into the country; she returned from it precisely as
though she were still a widow. He took care of her fortune and
supplied her luxury as a steward might have done. The countess had the
utmost respect for her husband. She even admired his turn of mind; she
knew how to make him happy by approbation; she could do what she
pleased with him by simply going to his study and talking for an hour
with him. Like the great seigneurs of the olden time, the count
protected his wife so loyally that a single word of disrespect said of
her would have been to him an unpardonable injury. The world admired
him for this; and Madame de Serizy owed much to it. Any other woman,