As for the Comtesse de
Granville, she was living a retired life on one of her estates in
Normandy, economizing and praying, ending her days between priests and
money-bags, cold as ever to her dying moment. Even supposing that
Marie had time to go to Bayeux and implore her, would her mother give
her such a sum unless she explained why she wanted it? Could she say
she had debts? Yes, perhaps her mother would be softened by the wants
of her favorite child. Well, then! in case all other means failed, she
_would_ go to Normandy. The dreadful sight of the morning, the effects
she had made to revive Nathan, the hours passed beside his pillow, his
broken confession, the agony of a great soul, a vast genius stopped in
its upward flight by a sordid vulgar obstacle,--all these things
rushed into her memory and stimulated her love. She went over and over
her emotions, and felt her love to be deeper in these days of misery
than in those of Nathan's fame and grandeur. She felt the nobility of
his last words said to her in Lady Dudley's boudoir. What sacredness
in that farewell! What grandeur in the immolation of a selfish
happiness which would have been her torture! The countess had longed
for emotions, and now she had them,--terrible, cruel, and yet most
precious. She lived a deeper life in pain than in pleasure. With what
delight she said to herself: "I have saved him once, and I will save
him again.
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