the monotony of her days. Dinah walked her guests round and round the
lawn, ornamented with large vases of flowers, which lay in front of
the Chateau d'Anzy.

"How is it," said Lousteau, the practical joker, "that so handsome a
woman as you, and apparently so superior, should have remained buried
in the country? What do you do to make life endurable?"

"Ah! that is the crux," said the lady. "It is unendurable. Utter
despair or dull resignation--there is no third alternative; that is
the arid soil in which our existence is rooted, and on which a
thousand stagnant ideas fall; they cannot fertilize the ground, but
they supply food for the etiolated flowers of our desert souls. Never
believe in indifference! Indifference is either despair or
resignation. Then each woman takes up the pursuit which, according to
her character, seems to promise some amusement. Some rush into
jam-making and washing, household management, the rural joys of the
vintage or the harvest, bottling fruit, embroidering handkerchiefs,
the cares of motherhood, the intrigues of a country town. Others
torment a much-enduring piano, which, at the end of seven years,
sounds like an old kettle, and ends its asthmatic life at the Chateau
d'Anzy. Some pious dames talk over the different brands of the Word of
God--the Abbe Fritaud as compared with the Abbe Guinard. They play
cards in the evening, dance with the same partners for twelve years
running, in the same rooms, at the same dates. This delightful life is
varied by solemn walks on the Mall, visits of politeness among the
women, who ask each other where they bought their gowns.

"Conversation is bounded on the south by remarks on the intrigues
lying hidden under the stagnant water of provincial life, on the north