First Part Chapter 27

THE SAME TO THE SAME
October.

I have not written to you, dear, since our marriage, nearly eight
months ago.

And not a line from you! Madame, you are inexcusable.

To begin with, we set off in a post-chaise for the Castle of
Chantepleurs, the property which Macumer has bought in Nivernais. It
stands on the banks of the Loire, sixty leagues from Paris. Our
servants, with the exception of my maid, were there before us, and we
arrived, after a very rapid journey, the next evening. I slept all the
way from Paris to beyond Montargis. My lord and master put his arm
round me and pillowed my head on his shoulder, upon an arrangement of
handkerchiefs. This was the one liberty he took; and the almost
motherly tenderness which got the better of his drowsiness, touched me
strangely.

I fell asleep then under the fire of his eyes, and awoke to
find them still blazing; the passionate gaze remained unchanged, but
what thoughts had come and gone meanwhile! Twice he had kissed me on
the forehead. At Briare we had breakfast in the carriage. Then followed a talk like
our old talks at Blois, while the same Loire we used to admire called
forth our praises, and at half-past seven we entered the noble long
avenue of lime-trees, acacias, sycamores, and larches which leads to
Chantepleurs.

At eight we dined; at ten we were in our bedroom, a
charming Gothic room, made comfortable with every modern luxury.
Felipe, who is thought so ugly, seemed to me quite beautiful in his
graceful kindness and the exquisite delicacy of his affection. Of
passion, not a trace. All through the journey he might have been an
old friend of fifteen years' standing. Later, he has described to me,
with all the vivid touches of his first letter, the furious storms
that raged within and were not allowed to ruffle the outer surface.