"Calyste is as good and simple as he is noble and beautiful," she
said, gravely. "I have made you my heiress in more things than
property; you now possess the double ideal of which I dreamed. I
rejoice in what I have done," she continued, after a pause. "But,
my child, make no mistake; do yourself no wrong. You have easily
won happiness; you have only to stretch out your hand to take it,
and it is yours; but be careful to preserve it. If you had come
here solely to carry away with you the counsels that my knowledge
of your husband alone can give you, the journey would be well
repaid. Calyste is moved at this moment by a communicated passion,
but you have not inspired it. To make your happiness lasting, try,
my dear child, to give him something of his former emotions. In
the interests of both of you, be capricious, be coquettish; to
tell you the truth, you /must/ be. I am not advising any odious
scheming, or petty tyranny; this that I tell you is the science of
a woman's life. Between usury and prodigality, my child, is
economy. Study, therefore, to acquire honorably a certain empire
over Calyste. These are the last words on earthly interests that I
shall ever utter, and I have kept them to say as we part; for
there are times when I tremble in my conscience lest to save
Calyste I may have sacrificed you. Bind him to you, firmly, give
him children, let him respect their mother in you--and," she
added, in a low and trembling voice, "manage, if you can, that he
shall never again see Beatrix."

That name plunged us both into a sort of stupor; we looked into
each other's eyes, exchanging a vague uneasiness.

"Do you return to Guerande?" she asked me.