He lived in her life; he groomed the horse which SHE rode, he
studied the ways and means of that splendid establishment, to the
interests of which he was now more devoted than ever. These silent
pleasures were buried in his heart like those of a mother, whose heart
a child never knows; for is it knowing anything unless we know it all?
His love was more perfect than the love of Petrarch for Laura, which
found its ultimate reward in the treasures of fame, the triumph of the
poem which she had inspired. Surely the emotion that the Chevalier
d'Assas felt in dying must have been to him a lifetime of joy. Such
emotions as these Paz enjoyed daily,--without dying, but also without
the guerdon of immortality.
But what is Love, that, in spite of all these ineffable delights, Paz
should still have been unhappy? The Catholic religion has so magnified
Love that she has wedded it indissolubly to respect and nobility of
spirit. Love is therefore attended by those sentiments and qualities
of which mankind is proud; it is rare to find true Love existing where
contempt is felt. Thaddeus was suffering from the wounds his own hand
had given him. The trial of his former life, when he lived beside his
mistress, unknown, unappreciated, but generously working for her, was
better than this. Yes, he wanted the reward of his virtue, her
respect, and he had lost it.
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