On seeing it, Augustine uttered a
cry.
"I knew it was no longer in my house," she said, "but--here!----"
"My dear child, I asked for it merely to see what pitch of idiocy a
man of genius may attain to. Sooner or later I should have returned it
to you, for I never expected the pleasure of seeing the original here
face to face with the copy. While we finish our conversation I will
have it carried down to your carriage. And if, armed with such a
talisman, you are not your husband's mistress for a hundred years, you
are not a woman, and you deserve your fate."
Augustine kissed the Duchess' hand, and the lady clasped her to her
heart, with all the more tenderness because she would forget her by
the morrow. This scene might perhaps have destroyed for ever the
candor and purity of a less virtuous woman than Augustine, for the
astute politics of the higher social spheres were no more consonant to
Augustine than the narrow reasoning of Joseph Lebas, or Madame
Guillaume's vapid morality. Strange are the results of the false
positions into which we may be brought by the slightest mistake in the
conduct of life! Augustine was like an Alpine cowherd surprised by an
avalanche; if he hesitates, if he listens to the shouts of his
comrades, he is almost certainly lost. In such a crisis the heart
steels itself or breaks.
Madame de Sommervieux returned home a prey to such agitation as it is
difficult to describe. Her conversation with the Duchesse de
Carigliano had roused in her mind a crowd of contradictory thoughts.
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