Though he had covered the purpose of his journey
with the vulgar pretext of needing rest,--in which, by the bye, women
never believe, even when it is true,--his conscience troubled him
somewhat; but the word "conscience" seemed so Jesuitical to La Briere
that he shrugged his shoulders when the poet mentioned his scruples.
"Your conscience, my friend, strikes me as nothing more nor less than
a dread of losing the pleasures of vanity, and some very real
advantages and habits by sacrificing the affections of Madame de
Chaulieu; for, if you were sure of succeeding with Modeste, you would
renounce without the slightest compunction the wilted aftermath of a
passion that has been mown and well-raked for the last eight years. If
you simply mean that you are afraid of displeasing your protectress,
should she find out the object of your stay here, I believe you. To
renounce the duchess and yet not succeed at the Chalet is too heavy a
risk. You take the anxiety of this alternative for remorse."
"You have no comprehension of feelings," said the poet, irritably,
like a man who hears truth when he expects a compliment.
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