Letters of Two Brides

Then we began to walk up and down as we talked, and I must say that so

soon as my Spaniard had recovered himself he put forth the genuine

eloquence of the heart. It was not passion it breathed, but a

marvelous tenderness of feeling which he beautifully compared to the

divine love. His thrilling voice, which lent an added charm to

thoughts, in themselves so exquisite, reminded me of the nightingale's

note. He spoke low, using only the middle tones of a fine instrument,

and words flowed upon words with the rush of a torrent. It was the

overflow of the heart. "No more," I said, "or I shall not be able to tear myself away."

And with a gesture I dismissed him.

"You have committed yourself now, mademoiselle," said Griffith.

"In England that might be so, but not in France," I replied with

nonchalance. "I intend to make a love match, and am feeling my way

--that is all." You see, dear, as love did not come to me, I had to do as Mahomet did

with the mountain. Friday. Once more I have seen my slave.

He has become very timid, and puts on

an air of pious devotion, which I like, for it seems to say that he

feels my power and fascination in every fibre. But nothing in his look

or manner can rouse in these society sibyls any suspicion of the

boundless love which I see. Don't suppose though, dear, that I am

carried away, mastered, tamed; on the contrary, the taming, mastering,

and carrying away are on my side . . .

In short, I am quite capable of reason. Oh! to feel again the terror

of that fascination in which I was held by the schoolmaster, the

plebeian, the man I kept at a distance!

The fact is that love is of two kinds--one which commands, and one

which obeys. The two are quite distinct, and the passion to which the

one gives rise is not the passion of the other. To get her full of

life, perhaps a woman ought to have experience of both. Can the two

passions ever co-exist? Can the man in whom we inspire love inspire it

in us? Will the day ever come when Felipe is my master? Shall I

tremble then, as he does now? These are questions which make me

shudder.

He is very blind! In his place I should have thought Mlle. de

Chaulieu, meeting me under the limes, a cold, calculating coquette,

with starched manners. No, that is not love, it is playing with fire.

I am still fond of Felipe, but I am calm and at my ease with him now.

No more obstacles! What a terrible thought! It is all ebb-tide within,

and I fear to question my heart. His mistake was in concealing the

ardor of his love; he ought to have forced my self-control.