Theleader，whoappearedtheleastdilapidatedofthesewrecks，camegallantlyuptoMadamedeRouville，kissedherhand，andsatdownbyher。Theotherbowedandplacedhimselfnotfarfromhismodel，atadistancerepresentedbytwochairs。Adelaidecamebehindtheoldgentleman’sarmchairandleanedherelbowsontheback，unconsciouslyimitatingtheattitudegiventoDido’ssisterbyGuerininhisfamouspicture。
　　Thoughthegentleman’sfamiliaritywasthatofafather，hisfreedomseemedatthemomenttoannoytheyounggirl。
　　"What，areyousulkywithme？"hesaid。
　　ThenheshotatSchinneroneofthoseside—looksfullofshrewdnessandcunning，diplomaticlooks，whoseexpressionbetraysthediscreetuneasiness，thepolitecuriosityofwell—
　　bredpeople，andseemstoask，whentheyseeastranger，"Isheoneofus？"
　　"Thisisourneighbor，"saidtheoldlady，pointingtoHippolyte。
　　"Monsieurisacelebratedpainter，whosenamemustbeknowntoyouinspiteofyourindifferencetothearts。"
　　Theoldmansawhisfriend’smischievousintentinsuppressingthename，andbowedtotheyoungman。
　　"Certainly，"saidhe。"IheardagreatdealabouthispicturesatthelastSalon。Talenthasimmenseprivileges。"headded，observingtheartist’sredribbon。"Thatdistinction，whichwemustearnatthecostofourbloodandlongservice，youwininyouryouth；butallgloryisofthesamekindred，"hesaid，layinghishandonhisCrossofSaint—Louis。
　　Hippolytemurmuredafewwordsofacknowledgment，andwassilentagain，satisfiedtoadmirewithgrowingenthusiasmthebeautifulgirl’sheadthatcharmedhimsomuch。Hewassoonlostincontemplation，completelyforgettingtheextrememiseryofthedwelling。TohimAdelaide’sfacestoodoutagainstaluminousatmosphere。Herepliedbrieflytothequestionsaddressedtohim，which，bygoodluck，heheard，thankstoasingularfacultyofthesoulwhichsometimesseemstohaveadoubleconsciousness。
　　Whohasnotknownwhatitistositlostinsadordeliciousmeditation，listeningtoitsvoicewithin，whileattendingtoaconversationortoreading？Anadmirabledualitywhichoftenhelpsustotolerateabore！Hope，prolificandsmiling，pouredoutbeforehimathousandvisionsofhappiness；andherefusedtoconsiderwhatwasgoingonaroundhim。Asconfidingasachild，itseemedtohimbasetoanalyzeapleasure。
　　Afterashortlapseoftimeheperceivedthattheoldladyandherdaughterwereplayingcardswiththeoldgentleman。Astothesatellite，faithfultohisfunctionasashadow，hestoodbehindhisfriend’schairwatchinghisgame，andansweringtheplayer’smuteinquiriesbylittleapprovingnods，repeatingthequestioninggesturesoftheothercountenance。
　　"DuHalga，Ialwayslose，"saidthegentleman。
　　"Youdiscardbadly，"repliedtheBaronnedeRouville。
　　"ForthreemonthsnowIhaveneverwonasinglegame，"saidhe。
　　"Haveyoutheaces？"askedtheoldlady。
　　"Yes，onemoretomark，"saidhe。
　　"ShallIcomeandadviseyou？"saidAdelaide。
　　"No，no。StaywhereIcanseeyou。ByGad，itwouldbelosingtoomuchnottohaveyoutolookat！"
　　Atlastthegamewasover。Thegentlemanpulledouthispurse，and，throwingtwolouisd’oronthetable，notwithouttemper——
　　"Fortyfrancs，"heexclaimed，"theexactsum。——Deucetakeit！Itiseleveno’clock。"
　　"Itiseleveno’clock，"repeatedthesilentfigure，lookingatthepainter。
　　Theyoungman，hearingthesewordsrathermoredistinctlythanalltheothers，thoughtittimetoretire。Comingbacktotheworldofordinaryideas，hefoundafewcommonplaceremarkstomake，tookleaveoftheBaroness，herdaughter，andthetwostrangers，andwentaway，whollypossessedbythefirstrapturesoftruelove，withoutattemptingtoanalyzethelittleincidentsoftheevening。
　　OnthemorrowtheyoungpainterfeltthemostardentdesiretoseeAdelaideoncemore。Ifhehadfollowedthecallofhispassion，hewouldhavegonetohisneighbor’sdooratsixinthemorning，whenhewenttohisstudio。However，hestillwasreasonableenoughtowaittilltheafternoon。ButassoonashethoughthecouldpresenthimselftoMadamedeRouville，hewentdownstairs，rang，blushinglikeagirl，shylyaskedMademoiselleLeseigneur，whocametolethimin，tolethimhavetheportraitoftheBaron。
　　"Butcomein，"saidAdelaide，whohadnodoubtheardhimcomedownfromthestudio。
　　Thepainterfollowed，bashfulandoutofcountenance，notknowingwhattosay，happinesshadsodulledhiswit。ToseeAdelaide，toheartherustleofherskirt，afterlongingforawholemorningtobenearher，afterstartingupahundredtime——"Iwillgodownnow"——andnottohavegone；thiswastohimlifesorichthatsuchsensations，toogreatlyprolonged，wouldhavewornouthisspirit。Thehearthasthesingularpowerofgivingextraordinaryvaluetomerenothings。Whatjoyitistoatravelertotreasureabladeofgrass，anunfamiliarleaf，ifhehasriskedhislifetopluckit！Itisthesamewiththetriflesoflove。
　　Theoldladywasnotinthedrawing—room。Whentheyounggirlfoundherselfthere，alonewiththepainter，shebroughtachairtostandon，totakedownthepicture；butperceivingthatshecouldnotunhookitwithoutsettingherfootonthechestofdrawers，sheturnedtoHippolyte，andsaidwithablush：
　　"Iamnottallenough。Willyougetitdown？"
　　Afeelingofmodesty，betrayedintheexpressionofherfaceandthetonesofhervoice，wastherealmotiveofherrequest；andtheyoungman，understandingthis，gaveheroneofthoseglancesofintelligencewhicharethesweetestlanguageoflove。Seeingthatthepainterhadreadhersoul，Adelaidecastdownhereyeswiththeinstinctofreservewhichisthesecretofamaiden’sheart。Hippolyte，findingnothingtosay，andfeelingalmosttimid，tookdownthepicture，examineditgravely，carryingittothelightofthewindow，andthenwentaway，withoutsayingawordtoMademoiselleLeseigneurbut，"Iwillreturnitsoon。"
　　Duringthisbriefmomenttheybothwentthroughoneofthosestormsofagitationofwhichtheeffectsinthesoulmaybecomparedtothoseofastoneflungintoadeeplake。Themostdelightfulwavesofthoughtriseandfolloweachother，indescribable，repeated，andaimless，tossingtheheartlikethecircularripples，whichforalongtimefretthewaters，startingfromthepointwherethestonefell。
　　Hippolytereturnedtothestudiobearingtheportrait。Hiseaselwasreadywithafreshcanvas，andhispaletteset，hisbrushescleaned，thespotandthelightcarefullychosen。Andtillthedinnerhourheworkedatthepaintingwiththeardorartiststhrowintotheirwhims。HewentagainthateveningtotheBaronnedeRouville’s，andremainedfromninetilleleven。Exceptingthedifferenttopicsofconversation，thiseveningwasexactlylikethelast。Thetwooldmenarrivedatthesamehour，thesamegameofpiquetwasplayed，thesamespeechesmadebytheplayers，thesumlostbyAdelaide’sfriendwasnotlessconsiderablethanonthepreviousevening；onlyHippolyte，alittlebolder，venturedtochatwiththeyounggirl。
　　Aweekpassedthus，andinthecourseofitthepainter’sfeelingsandAdelaide’sunderwenttheslowanddelightfultransformationswhichbringtwosoulstoaperfectunderstanding。
　　Everydaythelookwithwhichthegirlwelcomedherfriendgrewmoreintimate，moreconfiding，gayer，andmoreopen；hervoiceandmannerbecamemoreeagerandmorefamiliar。Theylaughedandtalkedtogether，tellingeachothertheirthoughts，speakingofthemselveswiththesimplicityoftwochildrenwhohavemadefriendsinaday，asmuchasiftheyhadmetconstantlyforthreeyears。Schinnerwishedtobetaughtpiquet。Beingignorantandanovice，he，ofcourse，madeblunderafterblunder，andliketheoldman，helostalmosteverygame。Withouthavingspokenawordoflovetheloversknewthattheywereallinalltooneanother。
　　Hippolyteenjoyedexertinghispoweroverhisgentlelittlefriend，andmanyconcessionsweremadetohimbyAdelaide，who，timidanddevotedtohim，wasquitedeceivedbytheassumedfitsoftemper，suchastheleastskilledloverandthemostguilelessgirlcanaffect；andwhichtheyconstantlyplayoff，asspoiltchildrenabusethepowertheyowetotheirmother’saffection。
　　ThusallfamiliaritybetweenthegirlandtheoldCountwassoonputastopto。Sheunderstoodthepainter’smelancholy，andthethoughtshiddeninthefurrowsonhisbrow，fromtheabrupttoneofthefewwordshespokewhentheoldmanunceremoniouslykissedAdelaide’shandsorthroat。
　　MademoiselleLeseigneur，onherpart，soonexpectedherlovertogiveashortaccountofallhisactions；shewassounhappy，sorestlesswhenHippolytedidnotcome，shescoldedhimsoeffectuallyforhisabsence，thatthepainterhadtogiveupseeinghisotherfriends，andnowwentnowhere。Adelaideallowedthenaturaljealousyofwomentobeperceivedwhensheheardthatsometimesateleveno’clock，onquittingthehouse，thepainterstillhadvisitstopay，andwastobeseeninthemostbrilliantdrawing—roomsofParis。Thismodeoflife，sheassuredhim，wasbadforhishealth；then，withtheintenseconvictiontowhichtheaccent，theemphasisandthelookofonewelovelendsomuchweight，sheassertedthatamanwhowasobligedtoexpendhistimeandthecharmsofhiswitonseveralwomenatoncecouldnotbetheobjectofanyverywarmaffection。Thusthepainterwasled，asmuchbythetyrannyofhispassionasbytheexactionsofagirlinlove，toliveexclusivelyinthelittleapartmentwhereeverythingattractedhim。
　　Andneverwasthereapurerormoreardentlove。Onbothsidesthesametrustfulness，thesamedelicacy，gavetheirpassionincreasewithouttheaidofthosesacrificesbywhichmanypersonstrytoprovetheiraffection。Betweenthesetwotherewassuchaconstantinterchangeofsweetemotionthattheyknewnotwhichgaveorreceivedthemost。
　　Aspontaneousaffinitymadetheunionoftheirsoulsacloseone。
　　TheprogressofthistruefeelingwassorapidthattwomonthsaftertheaccidenttowhichthepainterowedthehappinessofknowingAdelaide，theirliveswereonelife。Fromearlymorningtheyounggirl，hearingfootstepsoverhead，couldsaytoherself，"Heisthere。"WhenHippolytewenthometohismotheratthedinnerhourheneverfailedtolookinonhisneighbors，andintheeveningheflewthereattheaccustomedhourwithalover’spunctuality。Thusthemosttyrannicalwomanorthemostambitiousinthematteroflovecouldnothavefoundthesmallestfaultwiththeyoungpainter。AndAdelaidetastedofunmixedandunboundedhappinessasshesawthefullestrealizationoftheidealofwhich，atherage，itissonaturaltodream。
　　Theoldgentlemannowcamemorerarely；Hippolyte，whohadbeenjealous，hadtakenhisplaceatthegreentable，andsharedhisconstantill—luckatcards。Andsometimes，inthemidstofhishappiness，asheconsideredMadamedeRouville’sdisastrousposition——forhehadhadmorethanoneproofofherextremepoverty——animportunatethoughtwouldhaunthim。Severaltimeshehadsaidtohimselfashewenthome，"Strange！twentyfrancseveryevening？"andhedarednotconfesstohimselfhisodioussuspicions。
　　Hespenttwomonthsovertheportrait，andwhenitwasfinished，varnished，andframed，helookeduponitasoneofhisbestworks。MadamelaBaronnedeRouvillehadneverspokenofitagain。Wasthisfromindifferenceorpride？Thepainterwouldnotallowhimselftoaccountforthissilence。HejoyfullyplottedwithAdelaidetohangthepictureinitsplacewhenMadamedeRouvilleshouldbeout。Sooneday，duringthewalkhermotherusuallytookintheTuileries，AdelaideforthefirsttimewentuptoHippolyte’sstudio，onthepretextofseeingtheportraitinthegoodlightinwhichithadbeenpainted。Shestoodspeechlessandmotionless，butinecstaticcontemplation，inwhichallawoman’sfeelingsweremerged。Foraretheynotallcomprehendedinboundlessadmirationforthemansheloves？Whenthepainter，uneasyathersilence，leanedforwardtolookather，sheheldoutherhand，unabletospeakaword，buttwotearsfellfromhereyes。Hippolytetookherhandandcovereditwithkisses；foraminutetheylookedateachotherinsilence，bothlongingtoconfesstheirlove，andnotdaring。Thepainterkeptherhandinhis，andthesameglow，thesamethrob，toldthemthattheirheartswerebothbeatingwildly。Theyounggirl，toogreatlyagitated，gentlydrewawayfromHippolyte，andsaid，withalookoftheutmostsimplicity：
　　"Youwillmakemymotherveryhappy。"
　　"What，onlyyourmother？"heasked。
　　"Oh，Iamtoohappy。"
　　Thepainterbenthisheadandremainedsilent，frightenedatthevehemenceofthefeelingswhichhertonesstirredinhisheart。
　　Then，bothunderstandingtheperilsofthesituation，theywentdownstairsandhungupthepictureinitsplace。HippolytedinedforthefirsttimewiththeBaroness，who，greatlyovercome，anddrownedintears，mustneedsembracehim。
　　Intheeveningtheoldemigre，theBarondeRouville’soldcomrade，paidtheladiesavisittoannouncethathehadjustbeenpromotedtotherankofvice—admiral。HisvoyagesbylandoverGermanyandRussiahadbeencountedasnavalcampaigns。Onseeingtheportraithecordiallyshookthepainter’shand，andexclaimed，"ByGad！thoughmyoldhulkdoesnotdeservetobeperpetuated，IwouldgladlygivefivehundredpistolestoseemyselfaslikeasthatistomydearoldRouville。"
　　AtthishinttheBaronesslookedatheryoungfriendandsmiled，whileherfacelightedupwithanexpressionofsuddengratitude。
　　Hippolytesuspectedthattheoldadmiralwishedtoofferhimthepriceofbothportraitswhilepayingforhisown。Hisprideasanartist，nolessthanhisjealousyperhaps，tookoffenceatthethought，andhereplied：
　　"Monsieur，ifIwereaportrait—painterIshouldnothavedonethisone。"
　　Theadmiralbithislip，andsatdowntocards。
　　ThepainterremainednearAdelaide，whoproposedadozenhandsofpiquet，towhichheagreed。AsheplayedheobservedinMadamedeRouvilleanexcitementoverhergamewhichsurprisedhim。NeverbeforehadtheoldBaronessmanifestedsoardentadesiretowin，orsokeenajoyinfingeringtheoldgentleman’sgoldpieces。
　　DuringtheeveningevilsuspicionstroubledHippolyte’shappiness，andfilledhimwithdistrust。CoulditbethatMadamedeRouvillelivedbygambling？Wassheplayingatthismomenttopayoffsomedebt，orunderthepressureofnecessity？Perhapsshehadnotpaidherrent。Theoldmanseemedshrewdenoughnottoallowhismoneytobetakenwithimpunity。Whatinterestattractedhimtothispoverty—strickenhouse，hewhowasrich？
　　Why，whenhehadformerlybeensofamiliarwithAdelaide，hadhegivenuptherightshehadacquired，andwhichwereperhapshisdue？
　　TheseinvoluntaryreflectionspromptedhimtowatchtheoldmanandtheBaroness，whosemeaninglooksandcertainsidelongglancescastatAdelaidedispleasedhim。"AmIbeingduped？"wasHippolyte’slastidea——horrible，scathing，forhebelieveditjustenoughtobetorturedbyit。Hedeterminedtostayafterthedepartureofthetwooldmen，toconfirmordissipatehissuspicions。HedrewouthispursetopayAdelaide；butcarriedawaybyhispoignantthoughts，helaiditonthetable，fallingintoareverieofbriefduration；then，ashamedofhissilence，herose，answeredsomecommonplacequestionfromMadamedeRouville，andwentcloseuptohertoexaminethewitheredfeatureswhilehewastalkingtoher。
　　Hewentaway，rackedbyathousanddoubts。Hehadgonedownbutafewstepswhenheturnedbacktofetchtheforgottenpurse。
　　"Ileftmypursehere！"hesaidtotheyounggirl。
　　"No，"shesaid，reddening。
　　"Ithoughtitwasthere，"andhepointedtothecard—table。Notfindingit，inhisshameforAdelaideandtheBaroness，helookedatthemwithablankamazementthatmadethemlaugh，turnedpale，felthiswaistcoat，andsaid，"Imusthavemadeamistake。Ihaveitsomewherenodoubt。"
　　Inoneendofthepursetherewerefifteenlouisd’or，andintheothersomesmallchange。Thetheftwassoflagrant，anddeniedwithsucheffrontery，thatHippolytenolongerfeltadoubtastohisneighbors’morals。Hestoodstillonthestairs，andgotdownwithsomedifficulty；hiskneesshook，hefeltdizzy，hewasinacoldsweat，heshivered，andfoundhimselfunabletowalk，struggling，ashewas，withtheagonizingshockcausedbythedestructionofallhishopes。Andatthismomenthefoundlurkinginhismemoryanumberofobservations，triflinginthemselves，butwhichcorroboratedhisfrightfulsuspicions，andwhich，byprovingthecertaintyofthislastincident，openedhiseyesastothecharacterandlifeofthesetwowomen。
　　Hadtheyreallywaitedtilltheportraitwasgiventhembeforerobbinghimofhispurse？Insuchacombinationthetheftwasevenmoreodious。ThepainterrecollectedthatforthelasttwoorthreeeveningsAdelaide，whileseemingtoexaminewithagirl’scuriositytheparticularstitchofthewornsilknetting，wasprobablycountingthecoinsinthepurse，whilemakingsomelightjests，quiteinnocentinappearance，butnodoubtwiththeobjectofwatchingforamomentwhenthesumwasworthstealing。
　　"TheoldadmiralhasperhapsgoodreasonsfornotmarryingAdelaide，andsotheBaronesshastried————"
　　Butatthishypothesishecheckedhimself，notfinishinghisthought，whichwascontradictedbyaveryjustreflection，"IftheBaronesshopestogetmetomarryherdaughter，"thoughthe，"theywouldnothaverobbedme。"
　　Then，clingingtohisillusions，tothelovethatalreadyhadtakensuchdeeproot，hetriedtofindajustificationinsomeaccident。"Thepursemusthavefallenonthefloor，"saidhetohimself，"orIleftitlyingonmychair。OrperhapsIhaveitaboutme——Iamsoabsent—minded！"Hesearchedhimselfwithhurriedmovements，butdidnotfindtheill—starredpurse。Hismemorycruellyretracedthefataltruth，minutebyminute。Hedistinctlysawthepurselyingonthegreencloth；butthen，doubtfulnolonger，heexcusedAdelaide，tellinghimselfthatpersonsinmisfortuneshouldnotbesohastilycondemned。Therewas，ofcourse，somesecretbehindthisapparentlydegradingaction。Hewouldnotadmitthatthatproudandnoblefacewasalie。
　　Atthesametimethewretchedroomsrosebeforehim，denudedofthepoetryoflovewhichbeautifieseverything；hesawthemdirtyandfaded，regardingthemasemblematicofaninnerlifedevoidofhonor，idleandvicious。Arenotourfeelingswritten，asitwere，onthethingsaboutus？
　　Nextmorningherose，nothavingslept。Theheartache，thatterriblemaladyofthesoul，hadmaderapidinroads。Tolosetheblisswedreamedof，torenounceourwholefuture，isakeenerpangthanthatcausedbythelossofknownhappiness，howevercompleteitmayhavebeen；forisnotHopebetterthanMemory？
　　Thethoughtsintowhichourspiritissuddenlyplungedarelikeashorelesssea，inwhichwemayswimforamoment，butwhereourloveisdoomedtodrownanddie。Anditisafrightfuldeath。Arenotourfeelingsthemostgloriouspartofourlife？Itisthispartialdeathwhich，incertaindelicateorpowerfulnatures，leadstotheterribleruinproducedbydisenchantment，byhopesandpassionsbetrayed。Thusitwaswiththeyoungpainter。HewentoutataveryearlyhourtowalkunderthefreshshadeoftheTuileries，absorbedinhisthoughts，forgettingeverythingintheworld。
　　Therebychancehemetoneofhismostintimatefriends，aschool—fellowandstudio—mate，withwhomhehadlivedonbettertermsthanwithabrother。
　　"Why，Hippolyte，whatailsyou？"askedFrancoisSouchet，theyoungsculptorwhohadjustwonthefirstprize，andwassoontosetoutforItaly。
　　"Iammostunhappy，"repliedHippolytegravely。
　　"Nothingbutaloveaffaircancauseyougrief。Money，glory，respect——youlacknothing。"
　　Insensiblythepainterwasledintoconfidences，andconfessedhislove。ThemomenthementionedtheRuedeSuresnes，andayounggirllivingonthefourthfloor，"Stop，stop，"criedSouchetlightly。"AlittlegirlIseeeverymorningattheChurchoftheAssumption，andwithwhomIhaveaflirtation。But，mydearfellow，weallknowher。ThemotherisaBaroness。DoyoureallybelieveinaBaronesslivingupfourflightsofstairs？
　　Brrr！Why，youarearelicofthegoldenage！Weseetheoldmotherhere，inthisavenue，everyday；why，herface，herappearance，telleverything。What，haveyounotknownherforwhatsheisbythewaysheholdsherbag？"
　　Thetwofriendswalkedupanddownforsometime，andseveralyoungmenwhoknewSouchetorSchinnerjoinedthem。Thepainter’sadventure，whichthesculptorregardedasunimportant，wasrepeatedbyhim。
　　"Sohe，too，hasseenthatyounglady！"saidSouchet。
　　Andthentherewerecomments，laughter，innocentmockery，fullofthelivelinessfamiliartoartists，butwhichpainedHippolytefrightfully。Acertainnativereticencemadehimuncomfortableashesawhisheart’ssecretsocarelesslyhandled，hispassionrent，torntotatters，ayoungandunknowngirl，whoselifeseemedtobesomodest，thevictimofcondemnation，rightorwrong，butpronouncedwithsuchrecklessindifference。Hepretendedtobemovedbyaspiritofcontradiction，askingeachforproofsofhisassertions，andtheirjestsbeganagain。
　　"But，mydearboy，haveyouseentheBaroness’shawl？"askedSouchet。
　　"Haveyoueverfollowedthegirlwhenshepattersofftochurchinthemorning？"saidJosephBridau，ayoungdauberinGros’
　　studio。
　　"Oh，themotherhasamongothervirtuesacertaingraygown，whichIregardastypical，"saidBixiou，thecaricaturist。
　　"Listen，Hippolyte，"thesculptorwenton。"Comehereataboutfouro’clock，andjuststudythewalkofbothmotheranddaughter。Ifafterthatyoustillhavedoubts！well，noonecanevermakeanythingofyou；youwouldbecapableofmarryingyourporter’sdaughter。
　　Tornbythemostconflictingfeelings，thepainterpartedfromhisfriends。ItseemedtohimthatAdelaideandhermothermustbesuperiortotheseaccusations，andatthebottomofhishearthewasfilledwithremorseforhavingsuspectedthepurityofthisbeautifulandsimplegirl。Hewenttohisstudio，passingthedooroftheroomswhereAdelaidewas，andconsciousofapainathisheartwhichnomancanmisapprehend。HelovedMademoiselledeRouvillesopassionatelythat，inspiteofthetheftofthepurse，hestillworshipedher。HislovewasthatoftheChevalierdesGrieuxadmiringhismistress，andholdingheraspure，evenonthecartwhichcarriessuchlostcreaturestoprison。"Whyshouldnotmylovekeepherthepurestofwomen？Whyabandonhertoevilandtovicewithoutholdingoutarescuinghandtoher？"
　　Theideaofthismissionpleasedhim。Lovemakesagainofeverything。Nothingtemptsayoungmanmorethantoplaythepartofagoodgeniustoawoman。Thereissomethinginexplicablyromanticinsuchanenterprisewhichappealstoahighly—strungsoul。Isitnottheutmoststretchofdevotionundertheloftiestandmostengagingaspect？Istherenotsomethinggrandinthethoughtthatweloveenoughstilltoloveonwhentheloveofothersdwindlesanddies？
　　Hippolytesatdowninhisstudio，gazedathispicturewithoutdoinganythingtoit，seeingthefiguresthroughtearsthatswelledinhiseyes，holdinghisbrushinhishand，goinguptothecanvasasiftosoftendownaneffect，butnottouchingit。
　　Nightfell，andhewasstillinthisattitude。Rousedfromhismoodinessbythedarkness，hewentdownstairs，mettheoldadmiralontheway，lookeddarklyathimashebowed，andfled。
　　Hehadintendedgoingintoseetheladies，butthesightofAdelaide’sprotectorfrozehisheartanddispelledhispurpose。
　　Forthehundredthtimehewonderedwhatinterestcouldbringthisoldprodigal，withhiseightythousandfrancsayear，tothisfourthstory，wherehelostaboutfortyfrancseveryevening；andhethoughthecouldguesswhatitwas。
　　ThenextandfollowingdaysHippolytethrewhimselfintohiswork，andtotrytoconquerhispassionbytheswiftrushofideasandtheardorofcomposition。Hehalfsucceeded。Studyconsoledhim，thoughitcouldnotsmotherthememoriesofsomanytenderhoursspentwithAdelaide。
　　Oneevening，ashelefthisstudio，hesawthedooroftheladies’roomshalfopen。Somebodywasstandingintherecessofthewindow，andthepositionofthedoorandthestaircasemadeitimpossiblethatthepaintershouldpasswithoutseeingAdelaide。Hebowedcoldly，withaglanceofsupremeindifference；
　　butjudgingofthegirl’ssufferingbyhisown，hefeltaninwardshudderashereflectedonthebitternesswhichthatlookandthatcoldnessmustproduceinalovingheart。Tocrownthemostdelightfulfeastwhicheverbroughtjoytotwopuresouls，byeightdaysofdisdain，ofthedeepestandmostuttercontempt！——A
　　frightfulconclusion。Andperhapsthepursehadbeenfound，perhapsAdelaidehadlookedforherfriendeveryevening。
　　Thissimpleandnaturalideafilledtheloverwithfreshremorse；
　　heaskedhimselfwhethertheproofsofattachmentgivenhimbytheyounggirl，thedelightfultalks，fullofthelovethathadsocharmedhim，didnotdeserveatleastaninquiry；werenotworthyofsomejustification。Ashamedofhavingresistedthepromptingsofhisheartforawholeweek，andfeelinghimselfalmostacriminalinthismentalstruggle，hecalledthesameeveningonMadamedeRouville。
　　Allhissuspicions，allhisevilthoughtsvanishedatthesightoftheyounggirl，whohadgrownpaleandthin。
　　"Goodheavens！whatisthematter？"heaskedher，aftergreetingtheBaroness。
　　Adelaidemadenoreply，butshegavehimalookofdeepmelancholy，asad，dejectedlook，whichpainedhim。
　　"Youhave，nodoubt，beenworkinghard，"saidtheoldlady。"Youarealtered。Wearethecauseofyourseclusion。Thatportraithaddelayedsomepicturesessentialtoyourreputation。"
　　Hippolytewasgladtofindsogoodanexcuseforhisrudeness。
　　"Yes，"hesaid，"Ihavebeenverybusy，butIhavebeensuffering————"
　　AtthesewordsAdelaideraisedherhead，lookedatherlover，andheranxiouseyeshadnownohintofreproach。
　　"Youmusthavethoughtusquiteindifferenttoanygoodorillthatmaybefallyou？"saidtheoldlady。
　　"Iwaswrong，"hereplied。"Still，thereareformsofpainwhichweknownothowtoconfidetoanyone，eventoafriendshipofolderdatethanthatwithwhichyouhonorme。"
　　"Thesincerityandstrengthoffriendshiparenottobemeasuredbytime。Ihaveseenoldfriendswhohadnotateartobestowonmisfortune，"saidtheBaroness，noddingsadly。
　　"Butyou——whatailsyou？"theyoungmanaskedAdelaide。
　　"Oh，nothing，"repliedtheBaroness。"Adelaidehassatuplateforsomenightstofinishsomelittlepieceofwoman’swork，andwouldnotlistentomewhenItoldherthatadaymoreorlessdidnotmatter————"
　　Hippolytewasnotlistening。Ashelookedatthesetwonoble，calmfaces，heblushedforhissuspicions，andascribedthelossofhispursetosomeunknownaccident。
　　Thiswasadeliciouseveningtohim，andperhapstohertoo。
　　Therearesomesecretswhichyoungsoulsunderstandsowell。
　　AdelaidecouldreadHippolyte’sthoughts。Thoughhecouldnotconfesshismisdeeds，thepainterknewthem，andhehadcomebacktohismistressmoreinlove，andmoreaffectionate，tryingthustopurchasehertacitforgiveness。Adelaidewasenjoyingsuchperfect，suchsweethappiness，thatshedidnotthinkshehadpaidtoodearforitwithallthegriefthathadsocruellycrushedhersoul。Andyet，thistrueconcordofhearts，thisunderstandingsofullofmagiccharm，wasdisturbedbyalittlespeechofMadamedeRouville’s。
　　"Letushaveourlittlegame，"shesaid，"formyoldfriendKergarouetwillnotletmeoff。"
　　Thesewordsrevivedalltheyoungpainter’sfears；hecoloredashelookedatAdelaide’smother，buthesawnothinginhercountenancebuttheexpressionofthefrankestgood—nature；nodoublemeaningmarreditscharm；itskeennesswasnotperifidious，itshumorseemedkindly，andnotraceofremorsedisturbeditsequanimity。
　　Hesatdowntothecard—table。Adelaidetooksidewiththepainter，sayingthathedidnotknowpiquet，andneededapartner。
　　AllthroughthegameMadamedeRouvilleandherdaughterexchangedlooksofintelligence，whichalarmedHippolyteallthemorebecausehewaswinning；butatlastafinalhandlefttheloversintheoldlady’sdebt。
　　Tofeelforsomemoneyinhispocketthepaintertookhishandsoffthetable，andhethensawbeforehimapursewhichAdelaidehadslippedinfrontofhimwithouthisnoticingit；thepoorchildhadtheoldoneinherhand，and，tokeephercountenance，waslookingintoitforthemoneytopayhermother。ThebloodrushedtoHippolyte’sheartwithsuchforcethathewasnearfainting。
　　Thenewpurse，substitutedforhisown，andwhichcontainedhisfifteengoldlouis，wasworkedwithgiltbeads。TheringsandtasselsborewitnesstoAdelaide’sgoodtaste，andshehadnodoubtspentallherlittlehoardinornamentingthisprettypieceofwork。Itwasimpossibletosaywithgreaterdelicacythatthepainter’sgiftcouldonlyberepaidbysomeproofofaffection。
　　Hippolyte，overcomewithhappiness，turnedtolookatAdelaideandhermother，andsawthattheyweretremulouswithpleasureanddelightattheirlittletrick。Hefelthimselfmean，sordid，afool；helongedtopunishhimself，torendhisheart。Afewtearsrosetohiseyes；byanirresistibleimpulsehesprangup，claspedAdelaideinhisarms，pressedhertohisheart，andstoleakiss；thenwiththesimpleheartinessofanartist，"Iaskforherformywife！"heexclaimed，lookingattheBaroness。
　　Adelaidelookedathimwithhalf—wrathfuleyes，andMadamedeRouville，somewhatastonished，wasconsideringherreply，whenthescenewasinterruptedbyaringatthebell。Theoldvice—
　　admiralcamein，followedbyhisshadow，andMadameSchinner。
　　Havingguessedthecauseofthegriefhersonvainlyendeavoredtoconceal，Hippolyte’smotherhadmadeinquiriesamongherfriendsconcerningAdelaide。Veryjustlyalarmedbythecalumnieswhichweighedontheyounggirl，unknowntotheComtedeKergarouet，whosenameshelearnedfromtheporter’swife，shewenttoreportthemtothevice—admiral；andhe，inhisrage，declared"hewouldcropallthescoundrels’earsforthem。"
　　Then，promptedbyhiswrath，hewentontoexplaintoMadameSchinnerthesecretofhislosingintentionallyatcards，becausetheBaronne’spridelefthimnonebuttheseingeniousmeansofassistingher。
　　WhenMadameSchinnerhadpaidherrespectstoMadamedeRouville，theBaronesslookedattheComtedeKergarouet，attheChevalierduHalga——thefriendofthedepartedComtessedeKergarouet——atHippolyte，andAdelaide，andsaid，withthegracethatcomesfromtheheart，"Soweareafamilypartythisevening。"
　　PARIS，May1832