onvince you; a loving heart is stronger
than all your coquetry, more powerful than all your pride. A woman is
never truly loved, I believe; a man never loves with idolatry, unless
he feels sure he is loved in return. Let old men, whom we read of in
comedies, fancy themselves adored by coquettes. A young man is conscious
of, and knows them; if he has a fancy, or a strong desire, and an
absorbing passion, for a coquette, he cannot mistake her; a coquette may
drive him out of his senses, but will never make him fall in love. Love,
such as I conceive it to be, is an incessant, complete, and perfect
sacrifice; but it is not the sacrifice of one only of the two persons
thus united. It is the perfect abnegation of two who are desirous of
blending their beings into one. If ever I love, I shall implore my lover
to leave me free and pure; I will tell him, and he will understand, that
my heart was torn by my refusal, and he, in his love for me, aware of
the magnitude of my sacrifice,--he, in his turn, I say, will store his
devotion for me,--will respect me, and will not seek my ruin, to insult
me when I shall have fallen, as you said just now, whilst uttering your
blasphemies against love, such as I understand it. That is my idea of
love. And now you will tell me, perhaps, that my love will despise me; I
defy him to do so, unless he be the vilest of men, and my heart assures
me that it is not such a man I would choose. A look from me will repay
him for the sacrifices he makes, or will inspire him with the virtues
which he would never think he possessed."

"But, Louise," exclaimed Montalais, "you tell us this, and do not carry
it into practice."

"What do you mean?"

"You are adored by Raoul de Bragelonne, who worships you on both knees.
The poor fellow is made the victim of your virtue, just as he would be--
nay, more than he would be, even--of my coquetry, or Athenais's pride."

"All this is simply a different shade of coquetry," said Athenais; "and
Louise, I perceive, is a coquette without knowing it."

"Oh!" said La Valliere.

"Yes, you may call it instinct, if you please, keenest sensibility,
exquisite refinement of feeling, perpetual play of restrained outbreaks
of affection, which end in smoke. It is very artful too, and very
effective. I should even, now that I reflect upon it, have preferred
this system of tactics to my own pride, for waging war on members of
the other sex, because it offers the advantage sometimes o