are the two related looks that I have named Sensuality and
Tenderness, for these reasons:

The former of these glances is addressed exclusively to the form of its
object; it caresses the periphery of it, and, the better to appreciate
its totality, moves away from it. This is what occurs in the retroactive
attitude of the head.

The other look, on the contrary, aims at the heart of things without
pausing on the surface, disdaining all that is external. It strives to
penetrate the object to its very essence, as if to unite itself more
closely within it; it has the expression of confidence, of faith--in a
word, the giving up of self.

Thus, when a man presses a woman's hand, we may affirm one of three
things from the attitude which his head assumes:

1. That he does not love her, if his head remains straight or simply
bent in facing her.

2. That he loves her tenderly, if he bows his head obliquely toward her.

3. Finally, that he loves her sensually--that is to say, solely for her
physical qualities--if, on looking at her, he moves his head toward the
shoulder which is opposite her.

Such are, in brief, the three attitudes of the head and the eyes, which
I have named _colorless, affectional, sensual_.

Henceforth I possessed completely the law of the inclinations of the
head, a law which derives from its very complexity the fertility of its
applications.

Episode V.

Semeiotics of The Shoulder.

When I found myself the possessor of this law whose triple formula is of
a nature to defy every objection, I sought to appropriate to myself,
before the mirror, all its applications.

But there arose yet another difficulty that I had not foreseen.

I, indeed, reproduced, and at the proper time, the movements of the head
already described, but they remained awkward and lifeless.

What was the cause of this awkwardness and coldness of which I was well
aware, but which I could not help? I strove unceasingly to reproduce the
examples that lived so vividly in my memory, but all these laborious
reproductions, these efforts from memory, were futile. The stubbornness
of an indomitable will, however, led only to a negative result. I was
vexed at an awkwardness the reason of which I could not find.

One day, almost discouraged by the lack of success in my researches, I
sorrowfully said to myself: "What shall I do? Alas! the more I labor,
the less clearly I see; am I incapable of reproducing nature--is the
diffic