And thereupon he vividly depicted his position, told of his sleepless
nights, his duties at certain hours, the absolute necessity of
succeeding in his enterprise, the insatiable requirements of a
newspaper in which he was required to judge the events of the whole
world without blundering, under pain of losing his power, and so
losing all, the infinite amount of rapid study he was forced to give
to questions which passed as rapidly as clouds in this all-consuming
age, etc., etc.

Raoul made a great mistake. The Marquise d'Espard had said to him on
one occasion, "Nothing is more naive than a first love." As he
unfolded before Marie's eyes this life which seemed to her immense,
the countess was overcome with admiration. She had thought Nathan
grand, she now considered him sublime. She blamed herself for loving
him too much; begged him to come to her only when he could do so
without difficulty. Wait? indeed she could wait! In future, she should
know how to sacrifice her enjoyments. Wishing to be his stepping-stone
was she really an obstacle? She wept with despair.

"Women," she said, with tears in her eyes, "can only love; men act;
they have a thousand ways in which they are bound to act. But we can
only think, and pray, and worship."

A love that had sacrificed so much for her sake deserved a recompense.
She looked about her like a nightingale descending from a leafy covert
to drink at a spring, to see if she were alone in the solitude, if the
silence hid no witness; then she raised her head to Raoul, who bent
his own, and let him take one kiss, the first and the only one that
she ever gave in secret, feeling happier at that moment than she had