ToGeorgeSandYourname，dearGeorge，whilecastingareflectedradianceonmybook，cangainnonewgloryfromthispage。Andyetitisneitherself-interestnordiffidencewhichhasledmetoplaceitthere，butonlythewishthatitshouldbearwitnesstothesolidfriendshipbetweenus，whichhassurvivedourwanderingsandseparations，andtriumphedoverthebusymaliceoftheworld。Thisfeelingishardlylikelynowtochange。Thegoodlycompanyoffriendlynames，whichwillremainattachedtomyworks，formsanelementofpleasureinthemidstofthevexationcausedbytheirincreasingnumber。Eachfreshbook，infact，givesrisetofreshannoyance，wereitonlyinthereproachesaimedatmytooprolificpen，asthoughitcouldrivalinfertilitytheworldfromwhich
　　drawmymodels!Woulditnotbeafinething，George，ifthefutureantiquarianofdeadliteraturesweretofindinthiscompanynonebutgreatnamesandgeneroushearts，friendsboundbypureandholyties，theillustriousfiguresofthecentury？MayI
　　notjustlypridemyselfonthisassuredpossession，ratherthanonapopularitynecessarilyunstable？Forhimwhoknowsyouwell，itishappinesstobeabletosignhimself，asIdohere，Yourfriend，DEBALZAC。
　　LOUISEDECHAULIEUTORENEEDEMAUCOMBE。
　　PARIS，September。
　　Sweetheart，Itooamfree!AndIamthefirsttoo，unlessyouhavewrittentoBlois，atoursweettrystofletter-writing。
　　Raisethosegreatblackeyesofyours，fixedonmyopeningsentence，andkeepthisexcitementfortheletterwhichshalltellyouofmyfirstlove。Bytheway，whyalways“first？“Isthere，Iwonder，asecondlove？
　　Don’tgorunningonlikethis，youwillsay，buttellmeratherhowyoumadeyourescapefromtheconventwhereyouweretotakeyourvows。Well，dear，Idon’tknowabouttheCarmelites，butthemiracleofmyowndeliverancewas，Icanassureyou，mosthumdrum。Thecriesofanalarmedconsciencetriumphedoverthedictatesofasternpolicy——there’sthewholemystery。Thesombremelancholywhichseizedmeafteryoulefthastenedthehappyclimax，myauntdidnotwanttoseemedieofadecline，andmymother，whoseoneunfailingcureformymaladywasanovitiate，gavewaybeforeher。
　　SoIaminParis，thankstoyou，mylove!DearRenee，couldyouhaveseenmethedayIfoundmyselfpartedfromyou，wellmightyouhavegloriedinthedeepimpressionyouhadmadeonsoyouthfulabosom。Wehadlivedsoconstantlytogether，sharingourdreamsandlettingourfancyroamtogether，thatIverilybelieveoursoulshadbecomeweldedtogether，likethosetwoHungariangirls，whosedeathweheardaboutfromM。Beauvisage——poormisnamedbeing!Neversurelywasmanbettercutoutbynatureforthepostofconventphysician!
　　Tellme，didyounotdroopandsickenwithyourdarling？
　　Inmygloomydepression，Icoulddonothingbutcountoverthetieswhichbindus。Butitseemedasthoughdistancehadloosenedthem；I
　　weariedoflife，likeaturtle-dovewidowedofhermate。Deathsmiledsweetlyonme，andIwasproceedingquietlytodie。TobeatBlois，attheCarmelites，consumedbydreadofhavingtotakemyvowsthere，aMlle。delaValliere，butwithoutherprelude，andwithoutmyRenee!
　　HowcouldInotbesick——sickuntodeath？
　　Howdifferentitusedtobe!Thatmonotonousexistence，whereeveryhourbringsitsduty，itsprayer，itstask，withsuchdesperateregularitythatyoucantellwhataCarmelitesisterisdoinginanyplace，atanyhourofthenightorday；thatdeadlydullroutine，whichcrushesoutallinterestinone’ssurroundings，hadbecomeforustwoaworldoflifeandmovement。Imaginationhadthrownopenherfairyrealms，andintheseourspiritsrangedatwill，eachinturnservingasmagicsteedtotheother，themorealertquickeningthedrowsy；theworldfromwhichourbodieswereshutoutbecametheplaygroundofourfancy，whichreveledthereinfrolicsomeadventure。
　　Thevery/LivesoftheSaints/helpedustounderstandwhatwassocarefullyleftunsaid!ButthedaywhenIwasreftofyoursweetcompany，IbecameatrueCarmelite，suchastheyappearedtous，amodernDanaid，who，insteadoftryingtofillabottomlessbarrel，drawseveryday，fromHeavenknowswhatdeep，anemptypitcher，thinkingtofinditfull。
　　Myauntknewnothingofthisinnerlife。Howcouldshe，whohasmadeaparadiseforherselfwithinthetwoacresofherconvent，understandmyrevoltagainstlife？Areligiouslife，ifembracedbygirlsofourage，demandseitheranextremesimplicityofsoul，suchaswe，sweetheart，donotpossess，orelseanardorforself-sacrificelikethatwhichmakesmyauntsonobleacharacter。Butshesacrificedherselfforabrothertowhomshewasdevoted；todothesameforanunknownpersonoranideaissurelymorethancanbeaskedofmortals。
　　ForthelastfortnightIhavebeengulpingdownsomanyrecklesswords，buryingsomanyreflectionsinmybosom，andaccumulatingsuchastoreofthingstotell，fitforyourearalone，thatIshouldcertainlyhavebeensuffocatedbutfortheresourceofletter-writingasasorrysubstituteforourbelovedtalks。Howhungryone’sheartgets!Iambeginningmyjournalthismorning，andIpicturetomyselfthatyoursisalreadystarted，andthat，inafewdays，IshallbeathomeinyourbeautifulGemenosvalley，whichIknowonlythroughyourdescriptions，justasyouwilllivethatParislife，revealedtoyouhithertoonlyinourdreams。
　　Well，then，sweetchild，knowthatonacertainmorning——ared-letterdayinmylife——therearrivedfromParisaladycompanionandPhilippe，thelastremainingofmygrandmother’svalets，chargedtocarrymeoff。Whenmyauntsummonedmetoherroomandtoldmethenews，Icouldnotspeakforjoy，andonlygazedatherstupidly。
　　“Mychild，“shesaid，inhergutturalvoice，“Icanseethatyouleavemewithoutregret，butthisfarewellisnotthelast；weshallmeetagain。Godhasplacedonyourforeheadthesignoftheelect。Youhavethepridewhichleadstoheavenortohell，butyournatureistoonobletochoosethedownwardpath。Iknowyoubetterthanyouknowyourself；withyou，passion，Icansee，willbeverydifferentfromwhatitiswithmostwomen。“
　　Shedrewmegentlytoherandkissedmyforehead。Thekissmademyfleshcreep，foritburnedwiththatconsumingfirewhicheatsawayherlife，whichhasturnedtoblacktheazureofhereyes，andsoftenedthelinesaboutthem，hasfurrowedthewarmivoryofhertemples，andcastasallowtingeoverthebeautifulface。
　　Beforereplying，Ikissedherhands。
　　“Dearaunt，“Isaid，“Ishallneverforgetyourkindness；andifithasnotmadeyournunneryallthatitoughttobeformyhealthofbodyandsoul，youmaybesurenothingshortofabrokenheartwillbringmebackagain——andthatyouwouldnotwishforme。Youwillnotseemehereagaintillmyroyalloverhasdesertedme，andIwarnyouthatifIcatchhim，deathaloneshalltearhimfromme。IfearnoMontespan。“
　　Shesmiledandsaid：
　　“Go，madcap，andtakeyouridlefancieswithyou。ThereiscertainlymoreoftheboldMontespaninyouthanofthegentlelaValliere。“
　　Ithrewmyarmsroundher。Thepoorladycouldnotrefrainfromescortingmetothecarriage。Therehertendergazewasdividedbetweenmeandthearmorialbearings。
　　AtBeaugencynightovertookme，stillsunkinastuporofthemindproducedbythesestrangepartingwords。WhatcanbeawaitingmeinthisworldforwhichIhavesohungered？
　　Tobeginwith，Ifoundnoonetoreceiveme；myhearthadbeenschooledinvain。MymotherwasattheBoisdeBoulogne，myfatherattheCouncil；mybrother，theDucdeRhetore，nevercomesin，Iamtold，tillitistimetodressfordinner。MissGriffithsheisnotunlikeagriffinandPhilippetookmetomyrooms。
　　Thesuiteistheonewhichbelongedtomybelovedgrandmother，thePrincessdeVauremont，towhomIowesomesortofafortunewhichnoonehasevertoldmeabout。Asyoureadthis，youwillunderstandthesadnesswhichcameovermeasIenteredaplacesacredtosomanymemories，andfoundtheroomsjustasshehadleftthem!Iwastosleepinthebedwhereshedied。
　　Sittingdownontheedgeofthesofa，Iburstintotears，forgettingI
　　wasnotalone，andrememberingonlyhowoftenIhadstoodtherebyherknees，thebettertohearherwords。ThereIhadgazeduponherface，buriedinitsbrownlaces，andwornasmuchbyageasbythepangsofapproachingdeath。Theroomseemedtomestillwarmwiththeheatwhichshekeptupthere。HowcomesitthatArmande-Louise-MariedeChaulieumustbelikesomepeasantgirl，whosleepsinhermother’sbedtheverymorrowofherdeath？FortomeitwasasthoughthePrincess，whodiedin1817，hadpassedawaybutyesterday。
　　Isawmanythingsintheroomwhichoughttohavebeenremoved。Theirpresenceshowedthecarelessnesswithwhichpeople，busywiththeaffairsofstate，maytreattheirown，andalsothelittlethoughtwhichhadbeengivensinceherdeathtothisgrandoldlady，whowillalwaysremainoneofthestrikingfiguresoftheeighteenthcentury。
　　Philippeseemedtodivinesomethingofthecauseofmytears。HetoldmethatthefurnitureofthePrincesshadbeenlefttomeinherwillandthatmyfatherhadallowedallthelargersuitestoremaindismantled，astheRevolutionhadleftthem。OnhearingthisIrose，andPhilippeopenedthedoorofthesmalldrawing-roomwhichleadsintothereception-rooms。
　　IntheseIfoundallthewell-rememberedwreckage；thepanelsabovethedoors，whichhadcontainedvaluablepictures，bareofallbutemptyframes；brokenmarbles，mirrorscarriedoff。InolddaysIwasafraidtogoupthestatestaircaseandcrossthesevast，desertedrooms；soIusedtogettothePrincess’roomsbyasmallstaircasewhichrunsunderthearchofthelargeroneandleadstothesecretdoorofherdressing-room。
　　Mysuite，consistingofadrawing-room，bedroom，andtheprettymorning-roominscarletandgold，ofwhichIhavetoldyou，liesinthewingonthesideoftheInvalides。Thehouseisonlyseparatedfromtheboulevardbyawall，coveredwithcreepers，andbyasplendidavenueoftrees，whichmingletheirfoliagewiththatoftheyoungelmsonthesidewalkoftheboulevard。Butfortheblue-and-golddomeoftheInvalidesanditsgraystonemass，youmightbeinawood。
　　Thestyleofdecorationintheserooms，togetherwiththeirsituation，indicatesthattheyweretheoldshowsuiteoftheduchesses，whilethedukesmusthavehadtheirsinthewingopposite。Thetwosuitesaredecorouslyseparatedbythetwomainblocks，aswellasbythecentralone，whichcontainedthosevast，gloomy，resoundinghallsshownmebyPhilippe，alldespoiledoftheirsplendor，asinthedaysofmychildhood。
　　Philippegrewquiteconfidentialwhenhesawthesurprisedepictedonmycountenance。Foryoumustknowthatinthishomeofdiplomacytheveryservantshaveareservedandmysteriousair。HewentontotellmethatitwasexpectedalawwouldsoonbepassedrestoringtothefugitivesoftheRevolutionthevalueoftheirproperty，andthatmyfatheriswaitingtodouphishousetillthisrestitutionismade，theking’sarchitecthavingestimatedthedamageatthreehundredthousandlivres。
　　Thispieceofnewsflungmebackdespairingonmydrawing-roomsofa。
　　Coulditbethatmyfather，insteadofspendingthismoneyinarrangingamarriageforme，wouldhaveleftmetodieintheconvent？
　　Thiswasthefirstthoughttogreetmeonthethresholdofmyhome。
　　Ah!Renee，whatwouldIhavegiventhentorestmyheaduponyourshoulder，ortotransportmyselftothedayswhenmygrandmothermadethelifeoftheserooms？Youtwoinalltheworldhavebeenaloneinlovingme——youawayatMaucombe，andshewhosurvivesonlyinmyheart，thedearoldlady，whosestillyouthfuleyesusedtoopenfromsleepatmycall。Howwellweunderstoodeachother!
　　Thesememoriessuddenlychangedmymood。Whatatfirsthadseemedprofanation，nowbreathedofholyassociation。Itwassweettoinhalethefaintodorofthepowdershelovedstilllingeringintheroom；
　　sweettosleepbeneaththeshelterofthoseyellowdamaskcurtainswiththeirwhitepattern，whichmusthaveretainedsomethingofthespiritemanatingfromhereyesandbreath。ItoldPhilippetorubuptheoldfurnitureandmaketheroomslookasiftheywerelivedin；I
　　explainedtohimmyselfhowIwantedeverythingarranged，andwheretoputeachpieceoffurniture。InthiswayIenteredintopossession，andshowedhowanairofyouthmightbegiventothedearoldthings。
　　Thebedroomiswhiteincolor，alittledulledwithtime，justasthegildingofthefancifularabesquesshowshereandthereapatchofred；butthiseffectharmonizeswellwiththefadedcolorsoftheSavonnerietapestry，whichwaspresentedtomygrandmotherbyLouisXV。alongwithhisportrait。ThetimepiecewasagiftfromtheMarechaldeSaxe，andthechinaornamentsonthemantelpiececamefromtheMarechaldeRichelieu。Mygrandmother’sportrait，paintedattheageoftwenty-five，hangsinanovalframeoppositethatoftheKing。
　　ThePrince，herhusband，isconspicuousbyhisabsence。Ilikethisfranknegligence，untingedbyhypocrisy——acharacteristictouchwhichsumsuphercharmingpersonality。Oncewhenmygrandmotherwasseriouslyill，herconfessorwasurgentthatthePrince，whowaswaitinginthedrawing-room，shouldbeadmitted。
　　“Hecancomeinwiththedoctorandhisdrugs，“wasthereply。
　　Thebedhasacanopyandwell-stuffedback，andthecurtainsareloopedupwithfinewidebands。Thefurnitureisofgildedwood，upholsteredinthesameyellowdamaskwithwhiteflowerswhichdrapesthewindows，andwhichislinedtherewithawhitesilkthatlooksasthoughitwerewatered。Thepanelsoverthedoorshavebeenpainted，bywhatartistIcan’tsay，buttheyrepresentoneasunrise，theotheramoonlightscene。
　　Thefireplaceisaveryinterestingfeatureintheroom。Itiseasytoseethatlifeinthelastcenturycenteredlargelyroundthehearth，wheregreateventswereenacted。Thecoppergiltgrateisamarvelofworkmanship，andthemantelpieceismostdelicatelyfinished；thefire-ironsarebeautifullychased；thebellowsareaperfectgem。ThetapestryofthescreencomesfromtheGobelinsandisexquisitelymounted；charmingfantasticfiguresrunallovertheframe，onthefeet，thesupportingbar，andthewings；thewholethingiswroughtlikeafan。