Chillon had a wife.

Her writing of the welcome to poverty stirred his knowledge of his wife's nature.

Carinthia might bear it and harden to flint; Henrietta was a butterfly for the golden rays.

His thoughts, all his energies, were bent on the making of money to supply her need for the pleasure she flew in--a butterfly's grub without it.

Accurately so did the husband and lover read his wife--adoring her the more.
Her letter's embracing close was costly to them.