to purify its neighbour by contact. As there is no treachery one does not forgive, there is no fault for which one cannot obtain absolution, no oversight which one cannot remedy; there is a science of loving one’s neighbour and finding him lovable, as there is a science of correct living.

‘The more delicate a mind is, the more original beauties it discovers; the more tender a soul, the more open to divine hope, the more reasons for love it finds in others, however sullied they may be; this is the work of charity, and more than one traveller, desolate and lost in the arid deserts of disillusionment, has been seen to reconquer faith and fall more deeply in love with what she had lost, and with all the more reason, since she then possesses the knowledge of how to direct her passion, and that of her beloved.’

Little by little Madame de Cosmelly’s face had lit up; her sadness shone with hope like a watery sun, and scarcely had Samuel finished his speech than she said to him quickly and with the naïve candour of a child:

‘Is it really true that this is possible, and that there are branches so easy to seize for those in despair?’

‘But certainly, madame!’

‘Ah, what a happy woman you would make me if you would please teach me your recipes!’

‘Nothing easier,’ he replied brutally.

In the midst of this sentimental marivaudage, confidence had arrived and indeed had joined the hands of the two characters; so much so that after some hesitations and little prudish gestures which to Samuel appeared very promising, Madame de Cosmelly in her turn took him into her confidence, beginning thus:

‘I understand everything that a poetic soul can suffer from this isolation, and how quickly a spiritual ambition like yours must consume itself in its solitude; but your griefs, which belong to none but you, come, as far as I have been able to discern through the pomp of your language, from strange and unsatisfied needs which are almost impossible to satisfy. You suffer, it is true; but possibly your suffering constitutes your grandeur, and is as necessary to you as happiness is to others. Now will you deign to listen to and sympathize with sorrows more easy to understand, a provincial grief? M. Cramer, I expect from you, the scholar, the man of wit, the advice and perhaps the help of a friend.

‘You know that at the time you knew me, I was a good little girl, already a little dreamy like you, but timid and obedient, that I looked at myself in the mirror less often than you did, and that I always hesitated to eat or pocket the peaches and grapes you went boldly and stole for me in our neighbours’ orchards. To me a pleasure was never really agreeable and complete save in so far as it was permitted, and I much preferred kissing a nice boy like you in front of my old aunt than in the middle of the fields. The coquetry and the attention that every marriageable girl ought to pay to her person only came to me later. When I could almost sing a romance at the piano they dressed me with more care, they forced me to stand up straight; they made me do gymnastics and forbade me to spoil my hands planting flowers or bringing up birds. I was allowed to read other things than Berquin and taken in evening dress to the local theatre to hear bad operas.

‘When M. de Cosmelly came to the château, I at once took a great liking to him. Comparing his flourishing youth with my grandmother’s rather carping old age, I thought he looked noble and upright, and his attitude towards me was one of the most respectful gallantry. Then they talked of wonderful things he had done; his arm smashed in a duel for a rather cowardly friend who had entrusted him with his sister’s honour, enormous sums lent to old and penniless comrades, and I don’t know what else. He had with everybody a commanding air, both affable and irresistible, which won me over too. How had he lived before leading this château life with us? Had he known other pleasures then than those of hunting with me, or singing virtuous romances on my bad piano? Had he had mistresses? Of that I knew nothing, and I never even dreamed of inquiring. I began to love him with all the credulousness of a girl who has never had time to make comparisons,