both
happier?"

"Because such happiness is not built on a sure foundation. No, no! put
your arms down. If we can kill each other with kisses, let us kiss on;
but let us use no other arms."

After our lips had clung to each other cruelly but sweetly, she paused,
and gazing at me with eyes full of passion she begged me to leave her
alone.

The situation in which I found myself is impossible to describe. I
deplored the prejudice which had constrained me, and I wept with rage. I
cooled myself by making a toilette which was extremely necessary, and
returned to her room.

She was writing.

"I am delighted to see you back," said she, "I am full of the poetic
frenzy and propose to tell the story of the victory we have gained in
verse."

"A sad victory, abhorred by love, hateful to nature."

"That will do nicely. Will each write a poem; I to celebrate the victory
and you to deplore it. But you look sad."

"I am in pain; but as the masculine anatomy is unknown to you, I cannot
explain matters."

Clementine did not reply, but I could see that she was affected. I
suffered a dull pain in that part which prejudice had made me hold a
prisoner while love and nature bade me give it perfect freedom. Sleep was
the only thing which would restore the balance of my constitution.

We went down to dinner, but I could not eat. I could not attend to the
reading of the translation which M. Vigi had brought with him, and I even
forgot to compliment him upon it. I begged the count to hold the bank for
me, and asked the company to allow me to lie down; nobody could tell what
was the matter with me, though Clementine might have her suspicions.

At supper-time Clementine, accompanied by a servant, brought me a
delicate cold collation, and told me that the bank had won. It was the
first time it had done so, for I had always taken care to play a losing
game. I made a good supper, but remained still melancholy and silent.
When I had finished Clementine bade me good night, saying that she was
going to write her poem.

I, too, was in the vein: I finished my poem, and made a fair copy of it
before I went to bed. In the morning Clementine came to see me, and gave
me her piece, which I read with pleasure; though I suspect that the
delight my praises gave was equal to mine.

Then came the turn of my composition, and before long I noticed that the
picture of my sufferings was making a profound impression on her. Big
tears rolled down her chee