Ernest's whole life was
now wrapped up in these sweet scraps of paper; they were to him what
banknotes are to a miser; while in Modeste's soul a deep love took the
place of her delight in agitating a glorious life, and being, in spite
of distance, its mainspring. Ernest's heart was the complement of
Canalis's glory. Alas! it often takes two men to make a perfect lover,
just as in literature we compose a type by collecting the
peculiarities of several similar characters. How many a time a woman
has been heard to say in her own salon after close and intimate
conversations:--
"Such a one is my ideal as to soul, and I love the other who is only a
dream of the senses."
The last letter written by Modeste, which here follows, gives us a
glimpse of the enchanted isle to which the meanderings of this
correspondence had led the two lovers.
To Monsieur de Canalis,--Be at Havre next Sunday; go to church;
after the morning service, walk once or twice round the nave, and
go out without speaking to any one; but wear a white rose in your
button-hole. Then return to Paris, where you shall receive an
answer.
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