us. It will lack
that irresistible character of intensity which, in itself, supposes
love; in brief, it will be lacking in love.

"Then," I said, "I have found in the shoulder the agent, the centre of
the manifestations of love."

Yes, if in pressing a friend's hand I raise my shoulders, I shall
thereby eloquently demonstrate all the affection with which he inspires
me.

If in looking at a woman I clasp my hands and at the same time raise my
shoulders, there is no longer any doubt as to the feeling that attaches
me to her, and instinctively every one will say: "He loves her truly;"
but if, preserving the same attitude in the same situation, the same
facial expression, the same movement of the head, I happen to withhold
the action of the shoulder, instantly all love will disappear from my
expression and nothing will be left to that attitude but a sentiment
vague and cold as falsehood.

Once more, then, the inclinations of the head whose law I have
previously determined, seem, to owe to the shoulder alone the
affectionate meaning that they express; but the head--as I have
said,--in its double inclination, characterizes two kinds of love (or
rather two sources of love) which are not to be confounded: _sensuality_
and _tenderness_.

What part, then, does the shoulder play in regard to this distinction?
It will be curious to determine this point. Let us see!

The part played by the shoulder is considerable in tenderness; that is
not to be doubted. But its role seems to be less in sensuality. Thus the
shoulder generally rises less when the head retroacts than when it
advances toward the object of its contemplation. Why is this? Is it
because sensuality pertains less to love than tenderness? Has it not the
same title to rank as one of the aspects of love? In a word, why is less
demand made upon the shoulder in one instance than in the other?

If I do not mistake, the reason is this: love gives more than it lays
claim to receive, while sensuality asks continually and seeks merely the
possession of its object. Love understands and loves sacrifice; it
pervades the whole being; it inspires it to bestow its entire self, and
that gift admits of no reserve.

Sensuality, on the contrary, is essentially selfish; far from giving
itself, it pretends to appropriate and absorb in itself the object of
its desires. Sensuality is, so to speak, but a distorted, narrow and
localized love; the body is the object of its contemplation, a