"
"Why?" asked the Princesse de Cadignan eagerly.
"Unique and true love," said de Marsay, "produces a sort of corporeal
apathy attuned to the contemplation into which one falls. Then the
mind complicates everything; it works on itself, pictures its fancies,
turns them into reality and torment; and such jealousy is as
delightful as it is distressing."
A foreign minister smiled as, by the light of memory, he felt the
truth of this remark.
"Besides," de Marsay went on, "I said to myself, why miss a happy
hour? Was it not better to go, even though feverish? And, then, if she
learns that I am ill, I believe her capable of hurrying here and
compromising herself. I made an effort; I wrote a second letter, and
carried it myself, for my confidential servant was now gone. The river
lay between us. I had to cross Paris; but at last, within a suitable
distance of her house, I caught sight of a messenger; I charged him to
have the note sent up to her at once, and I had the happy idea of
driving past her door in a hackney cab to see whether she might not by
chance receive the two letters together.
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