Jealousy is a noxious element in my soul, and you
have revealed to me its strength; it is awful, it destroys everything
--Oh! I do not mean the jealousy of an Othello," he continued,
noticing Modeste's gesture. "No, no; my thoughts were of myself: I
have been so indulged on that point. You know the affection to which I
owe all the happiness I have ever enjoyed,--very little at the best"
(he sadly shook his head). "Love is symbolized among all nations as a
child, because it fancies the world belongs to it, and it cannot
conceive otherwise. Well, Nature herself set the limit to that
sentiment. It was still-born. A tender, maternal soul guessed and
calmed the painful constriction of my heart,--for a woman who feels,
who knows, that she is past the joys of love becomes angelic in her
treatment of others. The duchess has never made me suffer in my
sensibilities. For ten years not a word, not a look, that could wound
me! I attach more value to words, to thoughts, to looks, than ordinary
men. If a look is to me a treasure beyond all price, the slightest
doubt is deadly poison; it acts instantaneously, my love dies.
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