fact, he felt that he had spoken and acted like a
school-boy on a holiday. He had uttered words, made promises, and taken
engagements on himself which no one demanded of him. No conduct could
have been more ridiculous. Happily, nothing was lost. He had yet time to
give his love that subordinate place which this sort of fantasy should
occupy in the life of man. He had been imprudent; but this very
imprudence might finally prove of service to him. All that remained of
this scene was a declaration--gracefully made, spontaneous,
natural--which subjected Madame de Tecle to the double charm of a mystic
idolatry which pleased her sex, and to a manly ardor which could not
displease her.

He had, therefore, nothing to regret--although he certainly would have
preferred, from the point of view of his principles, to have displayed a
somewhat less childish weakness.

But what course should he now adopt? Nothing could be more simple. He
would go to Madame de Tecle--implore her forgiveness--throw himself again
at her feet, promising eternal respect, and succeed. Consequently, about
ten o'clock, M. de Camors wrote the following note:

"MADAME

"I can not leave without bidding you adieu, and once more demanding
your forgiveness.

"Will you permit me?

"CAMORS."

This letter he was about despatching, when he received one containing the
following words:

"I shall be happy, Monsieur, if you will call upon me to-day, about
four o'clock.
"ELISE DE TECLE."

Upon which M. de Camors threw his own note in the fire, as entirely
superfluous.

No matter what interpretation he put upon this note, it was an evident
sign that love had triumphed and that virtue was defeated; for, after
what had passed the previous evening between Madame de Tecle and himself,
there was only one course for a virtuous woman to take; and that was
never to see him again. To see him was to pardon him; to pardon him was
to surrender herself to him, with or without circumlocution. Camors did
not allow himself to deplore any further an adventure which had so
suddenly lost its gravity. He soliloquized on the weakness of women. He
thought it bad taste in Madame de Tecle not to have maintained longer the
high ideal his innocence had created for her. Anticipating the
disenchantment which follows possession, he already saw her deprived of
all her prestige, and ticketed in the museum of his amorous souvenirs.

N