accustomed to take her to Bellefeuille and spend the delightful days
which seem to combine the charms of every season. Nature is equally
prodigal of flowers and fruit, the evenings are mild, the mornings
bright, and a blaze of summer often returns after a spell of autumn
gloom. During the early days of their love, Caroline had ascribed the
even mind and gentle temper, of which Roger gave her so many proofs,
to the rarity of their always longed-for meetings, and to their mode
of life, which did not compel them to be constantly together, as a
husband and wife must be. But now she could remember with rapture
that, tortured by foolish fears, she had watched him with trembling
during their first stay on this little estate in the Gatinais. Vain
suspiciousness of love! Each of these months of happiness had passed
like a dream in the midst of joys which never rang false. She had
always seen that kind creature with a tender smile on his lips, a
smile that seemed to mirror her own.

As she called up these vivid pictures, her eyes filled with tears; she
thought she could not love him enough, and was tempted to regard her
ambiguous position as a sort of tax levied by Fate on her love.
Finally, invincible curiosity led her to wonder for the thousandth
time what events they could be that led so tender a heart as Roger's
to find his pleasure in clandestine and illicit happiness. She
invented a thousand romances on purpose really to avoid recognizing
the true reason, which she had long suspected but tried not to believe
in. She rose, and carrying the baby in her arms, went into the
dining-room to superintend the preparations for dinner.

It was the 6th of May 1822, the anniversary of the excursion to the
Park of Saint-Leu, which had been the turning-point of her life; each
year it had been marked by heartfelt rejoicing. Caroline chose the