At the period when this story begins, these vagaries of fancy,
these excursions of her soul into the void, these feelers put forth
into the darkness of the future, the impatience of an ungiven love to
find its goal, the nobility of all her thoughts of life, the decision
of her mind to suffer in a sphere of higher things rather than
flounder in the marshes of provincial life like her mother, the pledge
she had made to herself never to fail in conduct, but to respect her
father's hearth and bring it happiness,--all this world of feeling and
sentiment had lately come to a climax and taken shape. Modeste wished
to be the friend and companion of a poet, an artist, a man in some way
superior to the crowd of men. But she intended to choose him,--not to
give him her heart, her life, her infinite tenderness freed from the
trammels of passion, until she had carefully and deeply studied him.
She began this pretty romance by simply enjoying it. Profound
tranquillity settled down upon her soul. Her cheeks took on a soft
color; and she became the beautiful and noble image of Germany, such
as we have lately seen her, the glory of the Chalet, the pride of
Madame Latournelle and the Dumays.
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