compose his character. But this persuasion gave her now no delightful
emotion. Convinced that she ought to reject him, his image only coloured
with sadness those objects and that ambition which she had hitherto
regarded with an exulting pride. She was not less bent on the lofty ends
of her destiny; but the glory and the illusion had fallen from them. She
had taken an insight into futurity, and felt, that to enjoy power was to
lose happiness. Yet, with this full conviction, she forsook the happiness
and clung to the power. Alas! for our best and wisest theories, our
problems, our systems, our philosophy! Human beings will never cease to
mistake the means for the end; and, despite the dogmas of sages, our
conduct does not depend on our convictions.

Carriage after carriage had rolled beneath the windows of the room where
Constance sat, and still she moved not; until at length a certain
composure, as if the result of some determination, stole over her
features. The brilliant and transparent hues returned to her cheek, and,
as she rose and stood erect with a certain calmness and energy on her lip
and forehead, perhaps her beauty had never seemed of so lofty and august a
cast. In passing through the chamber, she stopped for a moment opposite
the mirror that reflected her stately shape in its full height. Beauty is
so truly the weapon of woman, that it is as impossible for her, even in
grief, wholly to forget its effect, as it is for the flying warrior to
look with indifference on the sword with which he has won his trophies or
his fame. Nor was Constance that evening disposed to be indifferent to
the effect she should produce. She looked on the reflection of herself
with a feeling of triumph, not arising from vanity alone.

And when did mirror ever give back a form more worthy of a Pericles to
worship, or an Apelles to paint? Though but little removed from the
common height, the impression Constance always gave was that of a person