more or less blinded by desire; he always, either craftily or
brutally, proposes. It is for us to dispose. We are all-powerful. Peace
or discord springs from our will. He is not as well fitted to choose as
we are, because he has not the same reasons for wishing to see
comradeship follow upon passion, to see rapture give way to security. If
we are one day to be the mother of the child, are we not first of all
the mother of love? Are we not at the same time the cradle and the
tabernacle of that god? In any happy couple, is love not cast in the
woman's image much more than in the man's? The man has a thousand
things that attract and retain him elsewhere; his temperament is more
prodigal and less considerate than ours. It is in the woman that love
dwells; her sensitive nature leads her to a higher knowledge in the art
of loving; and the infinite details of her tenderness can make her seem
perfect in her lover's eyes when they do not render her exclusive...."

Struck by this last word, Rose exclaimed:

"What! According to you, love should not be exclusive!" And, lowering
her voice, she asked, "Are you not faithful?"

"We do not even think of being faithful as long as we love. We should
blush to offer love the cold homage of fidelity: it is a word devoid of
meaning in the presence of a genuine love. In love fidelity is like a
chain disappearing under the flowers. If it is one day seen, that means
that the flowers are faded."

I kneel beside her and, taking her in my arms, kiss her fondly. Through
the exquisite silence of the day, the church-bell rings out the
_Angelus_ in notes of gold. The garden is flooded with sunshine; and the
marigolds, the phlox, the jasmines, the scabious and the mallows push
their heads above their white railing. Each eager heart turns towards
the light.

"You see, my Roseline: just as the great sun shines in his glory and
governs the realm of flowers, so love must be king in the lives of us
women! He reigns and is independent of any but himself. Only," I added,
laughing, "though we accept him as king, we must not make a tyrant of
him. Poor love! I wonder what wretched transformation he must have
undergone through the ages for us to have managed to invest him with the
most selfish of human sentiments, the sense of property! So far from
that, we ought mutually to respect the life that goes with ours and
never seek to restrain it."

There is a pause; and Rose, with her face pressed to my cheek, al