umstances or people, to deliver
those who are shackled by prejudice or fear, to deliver the beauty that
is unable to show itself and the will that dares not act? To deliver!
What a magic word! Rose, does it ring in your heart as it rings in
mine?...

"But, as you see, my dreams are carrying me too far; and I blush at my
audacity. When I look at you and judge myself, it often seems to me that
what I have done for you is only a form of vanity, that all my generous
aspirations are but vanity!... Is it true?

"And, if it were! Is it not still greater and more foolish vanity to
require that all our actions should spring from pure and sublime
motives? If, in contributing to your development, I am conscious that I
am assisting my own, will yours be any the less complete for that? If I
no longer know which is dearer, you, who represent my dreams, or my
dreams, which have become embodied in yourself, will you on that account
be less fondly and less nobly loved?

"And, if it be true that vanity there is, is the vanity vain that sheds
happiness and joy?"

CHAPTER II

1

A long month has passed since my return to Paris. Twice Rose has written
to announce her arrival: I waited for her at the station and she did not
come. Poor child! We all know how difficult it is to break one's bonds,
even the most detested. A thousand invisible ties keep us in the place
where chance has set us; and, when we are about to rend them, they
become so many unsuspected pangs. Instinct blindly resists all change,
as though it were unable to distinguish what reason dimly descries
beyond the trials and dangers of the moment. Rose is leaving nothing but
wretchedness; in front of her is a fair and pleasant prospect.
Nevertheless, she hesitates and she is unhappy.

In my present restless state, I no longer know what I wish. If she came
to-morrow, should I be glad or not? I cannot tell. I can no longer tell.
Those who do not suffer from this absurd mania for action escape those
painful moments when we are at the mercy of a distracted will that no
longer knows exactly what it ought to want. In absence, our feelings
pass through so many contradictory phases! When the hour of return
comes, finding it impossible to collect so many conflicting sentiments
or to bring back to one point so many different desires, we surrender
ourselves to the impression of the moment; and this impression often has
nothing in common with what we had previously felt and