while . . ."

She paused.

"I used to think," she said, "that no one could leave a woman in such
a position as mine. I have been forsaken; I must have offended in some
way. Yes, in some way, no doubt, I failed to keep some law of our
nature, was too loving, too devoted, too exacting--I do not know. Evil
days have brought light with them! For a long while I blamed another,
now I am content to bear the whole blame. At my own expense, I have
absolved that other of whom I once thought I had a right to complain.
I had not the art to keep him; fate has punished me heavily for my
lack of skill. I only knew how to love; how can one keep oneself in
mind when one loves? So I was a slave when I should have sought to be
a tyrant. Those who know me may condemn me, but they will respect me
too. Pain has taught me that I must not lay myself open to this a
second time. I cannot understand how it is that I am living yet, after
the anguish of that first week of the most fearful crisis in a woman's
life. Only from three years of loneliness would it be possible to draw
strength to speak of that time as I am speaking now. Such agony,
monsieur, usually ends in death; but this--well, it was the agony of
death with no tomb to end it. Oh! I have known pain indeed!"

The Vicomtesse raised her beautiful eyes to the ceiling; and the
cornice, no doubt, received all the confidences which a stranger might
not hear. When a woman is afraid to look at her interlocutor, there is
in truth no gentler, meeker, more accommodating confidant than the
cornice. The cornice is quite an institution in the boudoir; what is
it but the confessional, /minus/ the priest?