Letters of Two Brides

Oh! my dear, your letter has plunged me into an endless train of

thought. I see now that the convent can never take the place of mother

to a girl. I beg of you, my grand angel with the black eyes, so pure

and proud, so serious and so pretty, do not turn away from these

cries, which the first reading of your letter has torn from me! I have

taken comfort in the thought that, while I was lamenting, love was

doubtless busy knocking down the scaffolding of reason.

It may be that I shall do worse than you without any reasoning or

calculations. Passion is an element in life bound to have a logic not

less pitiless than yours. Monday.

Yesterday night I placed myself at the window as I was going to bed,

to look at the sky, which was wonderfully clear. The stars were like

silver nails, holding up a veil of blue. In the silence of the night I

could hear some one breathing, and by the half-light of the stars I

saw my Spaniard, perched like a squirrel on the branches of one of the

trees lining the boulevard, and doubtless lost in admiration of my

windows.

The first effect of this discovery was to make me withdraw into the

room, my feet and hands quite limp and nerveless; but, beneath the

fear, I was conscious of a delicious undercurrent of joy. I was

overpowered but happy. Not one of those clever Frenchmen, who aspire

to marry me, has had the brilliant idea of spending the night in an

elm-tree at the risk of being carried off by the watch. My Spaniard

has, no doubt, been there for some time. Ah! he won't give me any more

lessons, he wants to receive them--well, he shall have one. If only he

knew what I said to myself about his superficial ugliness! Others can

philosophize besides you, Renee! It was horrid, I argued, to fall in

love with a handsome man. Is it not practically avowing that the

senses count for three parts out of four in a passion which ought to

be super-sensual?

Having got over my first alarm, I craned my neck behind the window in

order to see him again--and well was I rewarded! By means of a hollow

cane he blew me in through the window a letter, cunningly rolled round

a leaden pellet. Good Heavens! will he suppose I left the window open on purpose?

But what was to be done? To shut it suddenly would be to make oneself

an accomplice. I did better. I returned to my window as though I had seen nothing and

heard nothing of the letter, then I said aloud: