So here are my black hair and my black eyes--whose lashes act,
according to you, like Venetian blinds--my commanding air, and my
whole person, raised to the rank of sovereign power! Ten years hence,
dear, why should we not both be laughing and gay in your Paris, whence
I shall carry you off now and again to my beautiful oasis in Provence?

Oh! Louise, don't spoil the splendid future which awaits us both!
Don't do the mad things with which you threaten me. My husband is a
young man, prematurely old; why don't you marry some young-hearted
graybeard in the Chamber of Peers? There lies your vocation.



XIV

THE DUC DE SORIA TO THE BARON DE MACUMER
MADRID.

MY DEAR BROTHER,--You did not make me Duc de Soria in order that my
actions should belie the name. How could I tolerate my happiness if I
knew you to be a wanderer, deprived of the comforts which wealth
everywhere commands? Neither Marie nor I will consent to marry till we
hear that you have accepted the money which Urraca will hand over to
you. These two millions are the fruit of your own savings and Marie's.

We have both prayed, kneeling before the same altar--and with what
earnestness, God knows!--for your happiness. My dear brother, it
cannot be that these prayers will remain unanswered. Heaven will send
you the love which you seek, to be the consolation of your exile.