n and at having in her excitement drawn a picture, the truth
of which might be open to suspicion, since it was the work of a woman.
I do not know how I answered; for without realizing the drift of all I
heard, I set out with her on the high road of sentiment, and we mounted
to such lofty heights of feeling that it was impossible to guess what
would be the end of our journey. It was fortunate that we also took the
path towards a pavilion which she pointed out to me at the end of the
terrace, a pavilion, the witness of many sweet moments. She described
to me the furnishing of it. What a pity that she had not the key! As she
spoke we reached the pavilion and found that it was open. The clearness
of the moonlight outside did not penetrate, but darkness has many
charms. We trembled as we went in. It was a sanctuary. Might it not be
the sanctuary of love? We drew near a sofa and sat down, and there we
remained a moment listening to our heart-beats. The last ray of the moon
carried away the last scruple. The hand which repelled me felt my heart
beat. She struggled to get away, but fell back overcome with tenderness.
We talked together through that silence in the language of thought.
Nothing is more rapturous than these mute conversations. Madame de
T----- took refuge in my arms, hid her head in my bosom, sighed and then
grew calm under my caresses. She grew melancholy, she was consoled,
and she asked of love all that love had robbed her of. The sound of the
river broke the silence of night with a gentle murmur, which seemed in
harmony with the beating of our hearts. Such was the darkness of the
place it was scarcely possible to discern objects; but through the
transparent crepe of a fair summer's night, the queen of that lovely
place seemed to me adorable.

"Oh!" she said to me with an angelic voice, "let us leave this dangerous
spot. Resistance here is beyond our strength."

She drew me away and we left the pavilion with regret.

"Ah! how happy is she!" cried Madame de T-----.

"Whom do you mean?" I asked.

"Did I speak?" said she with a look of alarm.

And then we reached the grassy bank, and stopped there involuntarily.
"What a distance there is," she said to me, "between this place and the
pavilion!"

"Yes indeed," said I. "But must this bank be always ominous? Is there a
regret? Is there--?"

I do not know by what magic it took place; but at this point the
conversation changed and became less serious. She venture