ss Amaryllis had given him, attuning my voice to the sentiment of
the lines. Clementine seemed as much affected as I was, and I fastened my
lips on hers. What happiness! She drew in the balm of my lips with
delight, and appeared to be free from alarm, so I was about to clasp her
in my arms when she pushed me away with the utmost gentleness, begging me
to spare her.

This was modesty at bay. I begged her pardon, and taking her hand
breathed out upon it all the ecstasy of my lips.

"You are trembling," said she, in a voice that did but increase the
amorous tumult of my heart.

"Yes, dearest countess, and I assure you I tremble for fear of you. Good
night, I am going; and my prayer must be that I may love you less."

"Why so? To love less is to begin to hate. Do as I do, and pray that your
love may grow and likewise the strength to resist it."

I went to bed ill pleased with myself. I did not know whether I had gone
too far or not far enough; but what did it matter? One thing was certain,
I was sorry for what I had done, and that was always a thought which
pained me.

In Clementine I saw a woman worthy of the deepest love and the greatest
respect, and I knew not how I could cease to love her, nor yet how I
could continue loving her without the reward which every faithful lover
hopes to win.

"If she loves me," I said to myself, "she cannot refuse me, but it is my
part to beg and pray, and even to push her to an extremity, that she may
find an excuse for her defeat. A lover's duty is to oblige the woman he
loves to surrender at discretion, and love always absolves him for so
doing."

According to this argument, which I coloured to suit my passions,
Clementine could not refuse me unless she did not love me, and I
determined to put her to the proof. I was strengthened in this resolve by
the wish to free myself from the state of excitement I was in, and I was
sure that if she continued obdurate I should soon get cured. But at the
same time I shuddered at the thought; the idea, of my no longer loving
Clementine seemed to me an impossibility and a cruelty.

After a troubled night I rose early and went to wish her good morning.
She was still asleep, but her sister Eleanore was dressing.

"My sister," said she, "read till three o'clock this morning. Now that
she has so many books, she is getting quite mad over them. Let us play a
trick on her; get into the bed beside her; it will be amusing to see her
surprise when she