e her as life has made her, and regret
bitterly that life, which has made her so beautiful, has touched her--Oh,
this is absurd! I love you! I love you with all that you bring to me of
sensations, of habits, with all that comes of your experiences, with all
that comes from him-perhaps, from them-how do I know? These things are my
delight and they are my torture. There must be a profound sense in the
public idiocy which says that love like ours is guilty. Joy is guilty
when it is immense. That is the reason why I suffer, my beloved."

She knelt before him, took his hands, and drew him to her.

"I do not wish you to suffer; I will not have it. It would be folly. I
love you, and never have loved any one but you. You may believe me; I do
not lie."

He kissed her forehead.

"If you deceived me, my dear, I should not reproach you for that; on the
contrary, I should be grateful to you. Nothing is so legitimate, so
human, as to deceive pain. What would become of us if women had not for
us the pity of untruth? Lie, my beloved, lie for the sake of charity.
Give me the dream that colors black sorrow. Lie; have no scruples. You
will only add another illusion to the illusion of love and beauty."

He sighed:

"Oh, common-sense, common wisdom!"

She asked him what he meant, and what common wisdom was. He said it was a
sensible proverb, but brutal, which it was better not to repeat.

"Repeat it all the same."

"You wish me to say it to you: 'Kissed lips do not lose their
freshness.'"

And he added:

"It is true that love preserves beauty, and that the beauty of women is
fed on caresses as bees are fed on flowers."

She placed on his lips a pledge in a kiss.

"I swear to you I never loved any one but you. Oh, no, it is not caresses
that have preserved the few charms which I am happy to have in order to
offer them to you. I love you! I love you!"

But he still remembered the letter dropped in the post-box, and the
unknown person met at the station.

"If you loved me truly, you would love only me."

She rose, indignant:

"Then you believe I love another? What you are saying is monstrous. Is
that what you think of me? And you say you love me! I pity you, because
you are insane."

"True, I am insane."

She, kneeling, with the supple palms of her hands enveloped his temples
and his cheeks. He said again that he was mad to be anxious about a
chance and commonplace meeting. She forced him to believe her, or,
rather, t