1

going down the stairs, i laughed to myself and said:

"it is really one of love's miracles, that that man should be interested in rose. and yet, to a philosopher, does not that beautiful girl offer a very unusual sense of security? from the point of view of the life which i had planned for her, she is a failure; but will she not be perfect in the eyes of a lover, of a man who expects nothing from her but an occasion for dreams and pleasure?"

filled with gladness, i hastened my steps. although it was the end of winter, it was still freezing; and it was pleasant to hear the sound of my feet on the hard ground. i also noticed the noises of the street: they were sharp and distinct; and in the crisp air things were all black and white, as though etched in dry-point.

for a moment, my dream vanished; then suddenly i became aware of it and i rifled a shop of its flowers

and jumped into a cab in order to be with my roseline the sooner.

2

rose and floris! the delicious combination filled my heart to bursting-point. is it not always some insignificant little accident that sets our impressions overflowing? like a child, at the last minute, i had felt a wish to know what he was called; and i was delighted to find that it was a name full of grace and colour. now all my thoughts clustered around those harmonious syllables. those remarkable eyes, that dark hair with its faint wave, that sensitive heart, that profound intellect, powerful and yet a little tired, like a tree bowed down with fruit: all this went through life under the name of floris!

then i saw once more his face, his gentleness, his profound charm; and i never doubted the girl's secret assent. in my fond hope, i went to the length of imagining that she had wished to choose her life for herself, independent of my influence; that she had at last understood that, in order to please me, she must first assert her liberty, without fear of hurting or vexing me. it was an illusion, certainly; but

there are times when joy thrusts aside reason in order to burst into full blossom, even as in moments of sorrow our despair often goes beyond reality to drain itself to the last drop in one passionate outpouring.

3

rose was sitting in the drawing-room, waiting for me. i rushed in like a mad thing, without knowing what i was doing. my laughter, my flowers, my words all came together and fell upon her like a shower of joy. in one breath i told her of my indiscretion of the night before, of those stolen sensations, of my anguish, of my life at a standstill, waiting on theirs, of my delightful talk with floris, of the sympathy between us and lastly of my conviction that happiness was being offered to her here and now.

then i noticed that she said nothing; and, begging her pardon for my incoherence, i tried to express in serious words the future that awaited her. but all those glad impressions had dazzled me; i was like some one who comes suddenly from the bright sunshine into a room. shadows fell and rose

before my brain as before eyes that have looked too long at the light; and i could do nothing but kiss her and repeat:

"believe me, happiness lies there! seize it, seize it!"

at last she murmured, wearily:

"no, i can't do it."

i questioned her, anxiously:

"perhaps there is some obstacle that separates you? do you dislike him?"

"no, i know his whole life and i have nothing against him."

"well, then ...?"

i tried in vain to obtain a definite reply. her soul was shut, walled in, almost hostile. was she refusing herself, as she had once given herself, without knowing why? or else was my vague intuition correct and was a latent energy escaping from that little low, square forehead, white and pure as a camellia, a force of which she herself was unaware and which no doubt would one day reveal to me the final choice of her life?

i made her sit down and, kneeling beside her, questioned her patiently and gently as one asks a sick child to describe the pain which one is anxious to

relieve. silently, gazing vaguely into space, she let herself rest on my shoulder. the flowers fell from her listless hands. some still hung to her dress, with tangled stalks. red carnations, mimosa, tuberose, narcissus, hyacinths drunk with perfume, guelder-roses and white lilac wept at her feet.

i rose slowly and looked at her, my heart aching for the heedless one who dropped the joys which chance laid in her arms!