Like all men of strong character and powerful mind,he has an admirable temper;its evenness would surprise you,as it did me.Ihave listened to the tale of many a woman's home troubles;I have heard of the moods and depression of men dissatisfied with themselves,who either won't get old or age ungracefully,men who carry about through life the rankling memory of some youthful excess,whose veins run poison and whose eyes are never frankly happy,men who cloak suspicion under bad temper,and make their women pay for an hour's peace by a morning of annoyance,who take vengeance on us for a beauty which is hateful to them because they have ceased themselves to be attractive,--all these are horrors unknown to youth.They are the penalty of unequal unions.Oh!my dear,whatever you do,don't marry Athenais to an old man!
But his smile--how I feast on it!A smile which is always there,yet always fresh through the play of subtle fancy,a speaking smile which makes of the lips a storehouse for thoughts of love and unspoken gratitude,a smile which links present joys to past.For nothing is allowed to drop out of our common life.The smallest works of nature have become part and parcel of our joy.In these delightful woods everything is alive and eloquent of ourselves.An old moss-grown oak,near the woodsman's house on the roadside,reminds us how we sat there,wearied,under its shade,while Gaston taught me about the mosses at our feet and told me their story,till,gradually ascending from science to science,we touched the very confines of creation.
There is something so kindred in our minds that they seem to me like two editions of the same book.You see what a literary tendency I have developed!We both have the habit,or the gift,of looking at every subject broadly,of taking in all its points of view,and the proof we are constantly giving ourselves of the singleness of our inward vision is an ever-new pleasure.We have actually come to look on this community of mind as a pledge of love;and if it ever failed us,it would mean as much to us as would a breach of fidelity in an ordinary home.
My life,full as it is of pleasures,would seem to you,nevertheless,extremely laborious.To begin with,my dear,you must know that Louise-Armande-Marie de Chaulieu does her own room.I could not bear that a hired menial,some woman or girl from the outside,should become initiated--literary touch again!--into the secrets of my bedroom.The veriest trifles connected with the worship of my heart partake of its sacred character.This is not jealousy;it is self-respect.Thus my room is done out with all the care a young girl in love bestows on her person,and with the precision of an old maid.My dressing-room is no chaos of litter;on the contrary,it makes a charming boudoir.My keen eye has foreseen all contingencies.At whatever hour the lord and master enters,he will find nothing to distress,surprise,or shock him;he is greeted by flowers,scents,and everything that can please the eye.
I get up in the early dawn,while he is still sleeping,and,without disturbing him,pass into the dressing-room,where,profiting by my mother's experience,I remove the traces of sleep by bathing in cold water.For during sleep the skin,being less active,does not perform its functions adequately;it becomes warm and covered with a sort of mist or atmosphere of sticky matter,visible to the eye.From a sponge-bath a woman issues ten years younger,and this,perhaps,is the interpretation of the myth of Venus rising from the sea.So the cold water restores to me the saucy charm of dawn,and,having combed and scented my hair and made a most fastidious toilet,I glide back,snake-like,in order that my master may find me,dainty as a spring morning,at his wakening.He is charmed with this freshness,as of a newly-opened flower,without having the least idea how it is produced.
The regular toilet of the day is a matter for my maid,and this takes place later in a larger room,set aside for the purpose.As you may suppose,there is also a toilet for going to bed.Three times a day,you see,or it may be four,do I array myself for the delight of my husband;which,again,dear one,is suggestive of certain ancient myths.
