At the end of nearly three years, Lisbeth was beginning to perceive
the progress of the underground mine on which she was expending her
life and concentrating her mind. Lisbeth planned, Madame Marneffe
acted. Madame Marneffe was the axe, Lisbeth was the hand the wielded
it, and that hand was rapidly demolishing the family which was every
day more odious to her; for we can hate more and more, just as, when
we love, we love better every day.
Love and hatred are feelings that feed on themselves; but of the two,
hatred has the longer vitality. Love is restricted within limits of
power; it derives its energies from life and from lavishness. Hatred
is like death, like avarice; it is, so to speak, an active
abstraction, above beings and things.
Lisbeth, embarked on the existence that was natural to her, expended
in it all her faculties; governing, like the Jesuits, by occult
influences. The regeneration of her person was equally complete; her
face was radiant. Lisbeth dreamed of becoming Madame la Marechale
Hulot.
This little scene, in which the two friends had bluntly uttered their
ideas without any circumlocution in expressing them, took place
immediately on Lisbeth's return from market, whither she had been to
procure the materials for an elegant dinner.
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