To Beatrix, Calyste's fury of love and his mad action
came as the thunderbolt that nought resists, which changes all
natures, even the most stubborn. She felt herself inwardly humbled; a
true, pure love bathed her heart with its soft and limpid warmth. She
breathed a sweet and genial atmosphere of feelings hitherto unknown to
her, by which she felt herself magnified, elevated; in fact, she rose
into that heaven where Bretons throughout all time have placed the
Woman. She relished with delight the respectful adoration of the
youth, whose happiness cost her little, for a gesture, a look, a word
was enough to satisfy him. The value which Calyste's heart gave to
these trifles touched her exceedingly; to hold her gloved hand was
more to that young angel than the possession of her whole person to
the man who ought to have been faithful to her. What a contrast
between them!
Few women could resist such constant deification. Beatrix felt herself
sure of being obeyed and understood. She might have asked Calyste to
risk his life for the slightest of her caprices, and he would never
have reflected for a moment.
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