"You must think me a fool;and,indeed,the delirium of my joy has robbed me of both nerve and wits.But of this at least be assured,whatever you do is sacred in my eyes from the very fact that it seemed right to you.I honor you as I honor only God besides.And then,Miss Griffith is here.""She is here for the sake of the others,not for us,"I put in hastily.
My dear,he understood me at once.
"I know very well,"he said,with the humblest glance at me,"that whether she is there or not makes no difference.Unseen of men,we are still in the presence of God,and our own esteem is not less important to us than that of the world.""Thank you,Felipe,"I said,holding out my hand to him with a gesture which you ought to see."A woman,and I am nothing,if not a woman,is on the road to loving the man who understands her.Oh!only on the road,"I went on,with a finger on my lips."Don't let your hopes carry you beyond what I say.My heart will belong only to the man who can read it and know its every turn.Our views,without being absolutely identical,must be the same in their breadth and elevation.
I have no wish to exaggerate my own merits;doubtless what seem virtues in my eyes have their corresponding defects.All I can say is,I should be heartbroken without them.""Having first accepted me as your servant,you now permit me to love you,"he said,trembling and looking in my face at each word."My first prayer has been more than answered.""But,"I hastened to reply,"your position seems to me a better one than mine.I should not object to change places,and this change it lies with you to bring about.""In my turn,I thank you,"he replied."I know the duties of a faithful lover.It is mine to prove that I am worthy of you;the trials shall be as long as you choose to make them.If I belie your hopes,you have only--God!that I should say it--to reject me.""I know that you love me,"I replied."/So far/,"with a cruel emphasis on the words,"you stand first in my regard.Otherwise you would not be here."Then we began to walk up and down as we talked,and I must say that so soon as my Spaniard had recovered himself he put forth the genuine eloquence of the heart.It was not passion it breathed,but a marvelous tenderness of feeling which he beautifully compared to the divine love.His thrilling voice,which lent an added charm to thoughts,in themselves so exquisite,reminded me of the nightingale's note.He spoke low,using only the middle tones of a fine instrument,and words flowed upon words with the rush of a torrent.It was the overflow of the heart.
"No more,"I said,"or I shall not be able to tear myself away."And with a gesture I dismissed him.
"You have committed yourself now,mademoiselle,"said Griffith.
"In England that might be so,but not in France,"I replied with nonchalance."I intend to make a love match,and am feeling my way--that is all."
You see,dear,as love did not come to me,I had to do as Mahomet did with the mountain.
Friday.
Once more I have seen my slave.He has become very timid,and puts on an air of pious devotion,which I like,for it seems to say that he feels my power and fascination in every fibre.But nothing in his look or manner can rouse in these society sibyls any suspicion of the boundless love which I see.Don't suppose though,dear,that I am carried away,mastered,tamed;on the contrary,the taming,mastering,and carrying away are on my side ...
In short,I am quite capable of reason.Oh!to feel again the terror of that fascination in which I was held by the schoolmaster,the plebeian,the man I kept at a distance!
The fact is that love is of two kinds--one which commands,and one which obeys.The two are quite distinct,and the passion to which the one gives rise is not the passion of the other.To get her full of life,perhaps a woman ought to have experience of both.Can the two passions ever co-exist?Can the man in whom we inspire love inspire it in us?Will the day ever come when Felipe is my master?Shall Itremble then,as he does now?These are questions which make me shudder.
He is very blind!In his place I should have thought Mlle.de Chaulieu,meeting me under the limes,a cold,calculating coquette,with starched manners.No,that is not love,it is playing with fire.
I am still fond of Felipe,but I am calm and at my ease with him now.
No more obstacles!What a terrible thought!It is all ebb-tide within,and I fear to question my heart.His mistake was in concealing the ardor of his love;he ought to have forced my self-control.
In a word,I was naughty,and I have not got the reward such naughtiness brings.No,dear,however sweet the memory of that half-hour beneath the trees,it is nothing like the excitement of the old time with its:"Shall I go?Shall I not go?Shall I write to him?
Shall I not write?"
Is it thus with all our pleasures?Is suspense always better than enjoyment?Hope than fruition?Is it the rich who in very truth are the poor?Have we not both perhaps exaggerated feeling by giving to imagination too free a rein?There are times when this thought freezes me.Shall I tell you why?Because I am meditating another visit to the bottom of the garden--without Griffith.How far could I go in this direction?Imagination knows no limit,but it is not so with pleasure.
Tell me,dear be-furbelowed professor,how can one reconcile the two goals of a woman's existence?
