The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 130: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE MISTRESS 113 and though very far from entertaining the idea of retracing his way, or revoking the preliminaries which he had that morning initiated with the notary, yet 1t occurred to him that it was altogether a matter on which he really ought to consult friendly advice. The notary himself had strongly urged him to adopt this course, and though Jules, in his infatuation for Augusta, had impatiently rejected the legal gentleman’s counsel at the time, it now recurred to him with added force, in consequence of the observations made by Villebelle. “T do not know,” he said, abruptly breaking silence, and raising his eyes as suddenly, “‘ that I am unhappy. In one sense I am the happiest of men.”’ “You ought to be,” said the marquis. ‘‘ You possess ample revenues, a fine position, a beautiful, amiable, and affectionate wife — But, ah! I hope that I have said nothing indiscreet? ”’ he ejaculated, perceiving that a cloud came over the handsome countenance of the young viscount. ‘““ My dear friend,” said the latter, taking the hand of the marquis and pressing it with a sort of convulsive force, “you have indeed touched a true chord, though not in the manner you intended or supposed. I said that in one sense I was the happiest of men, and I meant that I am thus happy in possessing the love of one of the most adorable of women. But this, Villebelle,’’ added the viscount, low- ering his voice to a scarcely audible whisper, “‘ this is not my wife.” The marquis was amazed, for with all his experience of the world, and with all his penetration, he had failed to discern that the Viscountess de Chateauneuf possessed not her husband’s love. “Yes, it is as I tell you,’”’ continued the viscount, having glanced around to assure himself that they were alone to- gether in the conservatory. ‘‘ My wife is as nothing to me, my mistress is everything. The former makes me wretched, the latter is a source of all happiness. Ah, my dear friend, you cannot read the real disposition of women by merely beholding them at the dinner-table, or in the midst of bril- liant society. Doubtless I have my faults, but who has not? Stephanie has, however, ten thousand times more failings than myself. Do not misunderstand me. The snow is not purer than her chastity as a wife, but I speak of infirmities CONNIEDOOKS (C(O)