was expending on /me/ the stormy emotions I revived by reminding
him of the coquetries of that hateful Beatrix,--just think of it!
that cold, unhealthy nature, so persistent yet so flabby,
something between a mollusk and a bit of coral, dares to call
itself Beatrix, /Beatrice!/

Already, dearest mother, I am forced to keep one eye open to
suspicion, when my heart is all Calyste's; and isn't it a great
catastrophe when the eye gets the better of the heart, and
suspicion at last finds itself justified? It came to pass in this
way:--

"This place is dear to me," I said to Calyste one morning,
"because I owe my happiness to it; and so I forgive you for taking
me sometimes for another woman."

The loyal Breton blushed, and I threw my arms around his neck. But
all the same I have left Les Touches, and never will I go back
there again.

The very strength of hatred which makes me long for Madame de
Rochefide's death--ah, heavens! a natural death, pleurisy, or some
accident--makes me also understand to its fullest extent the power
of my love for Calyste. That woman has appeared to me to trouble
my sleep,--I see her in a dream; shall I ever encounter her
bodily? Ah! the postulant of the Visitation was right,--Les
Touches is a fatal spot; Calyste has there recovered his past
emotions, and they are, I see it plainly, more powerful than the
joys of our love. Ascertain, my dear mamma, if Madame de Rochefide
is in Paris, for if she is, I shall stay in Brittany. Poor