us women, the real progress, the only progress which we must
desire and seek after! But how can I hope that Rose will progress if she
never feels?

3

In vain I roamed about with her for an hour, not among the pictures,
whose value she could not yet appreciate, but among the dreams that were
born of them, among the most moving and delectable visions; vain my
emotion, vain my rapture: no answering spark lit her indifferent eyes.
True, there was no question of failure or success; I was putting nothing
to the test: that would have been insanity. But why this weight of
oppression on my spirits? I could not get rid of disturbing memories:
memories of childish raptures finding utterance by chance; memories of
those first loves which fasten upon anything in their haste to live;
memories of virgin hearts nurtured on dreams!

O enthusiasm, admiration, love, if you were not at first wanderers,
neither seeking nor choosing, if you did not blaze fiercely and
foolishly like a flame burning in the noon-day sun, will you ever be
able to light the darkness with all the splendours that are awaiting
your spark in order to burst into life?

O sweet eyes of my Roseline, sweet eyes that shine under your soft, fair
lashes like two opals set in pure gold, will you close for all time
without having gazed for a moment upon the wonders of the earth, upon
the real sky of our human life? Is it true that your beams extinguish
life and beauty wherever they rest?

CHAPTER VI

1

It is six o'clock in the evening; I am taking Rose along the boulevards,
which are so interesting at this time of the year. As usual, I am
astonished at everything that does not astonish her. I look at her as
she walks, beautiful and impassive; I keep step with her stride; and my
thoughts hover to and fro between this life of hers which refuses to
take form and my ideals which are gradually fading out of existence.

Alas, the days pass over her without arousing either desire or
weariness! From time to time, I suggest some simple, trifling work for
her. But, whether the task be mental or material, whether the duty be
light or complex, she acquiesces in the suggestion only to make it
easier for her to put it aside later, gently and as a matter of course,
like tired arms laying down a burden too heavy for them.

This evening, I am merciful to her indolence. Going through the hall of
her boarding-house just now, I saw the long table laid, at which the
boarde