woman were to tell you that she was in love
with you?'

"'Upon my word,' I replied, very much at a loss for an answer, 'I cannot
foresee such a case; but it would very much depend upon the woman.'

"She gave a hard, nervous, vibrating laugh; one of those false laughs
which seem as if they must break thin glasses, and then she added: 'Men
are never either venturesome nor acute.' And after a moment's silence,
she continued: 'Have you ever been in love, Monsieur Paul?' I was
obliged to acknowledge that I certainly had been, and she asked me to
tell her all about it, whereupon I made up some story or other. She
listened to me attentively with frequent sighs of approbation and
contempt, and then suddenly she said:

"'No, you understand nothing about the subject. It seems to me, that
real love must unsettle the mind, upset the nerves and distract the
head; that it must--how shall I express it?--be dangerous, even
terrible, almost criminal and sacrilegious; that it must be a kind of
treason; I mean to say that it is almost bound to break laws, fraternal
bonds, sacred obstacles; when love is tranquil, easy, lawful and without
dangers, is it really love?'

"I did not know what answer to give her, and I made this philosophical
reflection to myself: 'Oh! female brain, here indeed you show yourself!'

"While speaking, she had assumed a demure, saintly air; and resting on
the cushions, she stretched herself out at full length, with her head on
my shoulder and her dress pulled up a little, so as to show her red silk
stockings, which the fire-light made look still brighter. In a minute or
two she continued:

"'I suppose I have frightened you?' I protested against such a notion,
and she leant against my breast altogether, and without looking at me
she said: 'If I were to tell you that I love you, what would you do?'

"And before I could think of an answer, she had thrown her arms round my
neck, had quickly drawn my head down and put her lips to mine.

"Oh! My dear friend, I can tell you that I did not feel at all happy!
What! deceive Julien? become the lover of this little silly,
wrong-headed, cunning woman, who was no doubt terribly sensual, and for
whom her husband was already not sufficient! To betray him continually,
to deceive him, to play at being in love merely because I was attracted
by forbidden fruit, danger incurred and friendship betrayed! No, that
did not suit me, but what was I to do? To imitate Joseph, would be