It seems as though certain natures were like the suns of
some moral system, obliging the looks, thoughts, and hearts of their
satellites to gravitate around them. Their moral and physical beauty is
a spell, their fascination a chain, love is but their emanation. We
track their upward course from earth to heaven, and when they vanish in
their youth and beauty, all else seems dark to the eye that has been
blinded by their brilliancy. The vulgar, even, recognize these superior
beings by some mysterious sign. They admire without comprehending, as
the blind enjoy the sunshine, who have never seen the sun.
X.
It was thus I learned that the young stranger lived in Paris. Her
husband was an old man, who had rendered his name illustrious, at the
close of the last century, by many discoveries which held a high place
in the history of science. He had been struck with the beauty and
talent of this young girl, and had adopted her in order to bequeath to
her his name and fortune. She loved him as a father, wrote to him every
day, and sent him a journal of her feelings and impressions.
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