concerning his wife; they are so happy together, so tenderly united!...
And I, what a sad destiny is mine! I have obtained neither repose, nor
happiness, nor those objects of ambition which I would have consented to
receive from the hand of love.

* * * * *

Here ends the Diary of Frances Krasinska. Her thoughts were too sad,
her memories too bitter, to bear being transferred to paper. When sorrow
in all its bitterness has seized upon the soul, we can no longer see or
hear without a shudder certain words which formerly excited reveries
more or less sweet and seductive within our souls. Frances lost all her
illusions, one by one; she was strong enough to bear up against
injustice, but she was powerless against her husband's indifference.

My readers may perhaps have accused her of ambition; and yet she loved
him; but love is not always absolute devotion and self-abnegation; love
is not always a virtue; it is often the result of egotism; it is, as
Madame de Staël says, one personality in two persons, or a mere double
personality. Frances loved the prince royal, but not the less had she
been dazzled by his rank.

She remained a long time at Sulgostow after Borch's departure. Barbara
Swidzinska, already the mother of one daughter, bore also a son, and
another daughter, who was named Frances. The tenderness, care, and
attention which Frances experienced in her own family could not console
her for the prince royal's desertion. Her sister was the only being in
the world to whom she confided her grief; women have a delicate
sensibility which enables them to comprehend the minutest details;
nothing escapes them, and, with the finest instruments in their