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allow a man at my feet! Despise them all, THAT should be my religion."



She rose and went to the window with a gait and bearingmagnificent in

motifs.



D'Arthez remained on the low seat to which he had returned not daring

to follow the princess; but he looked at her; he heard her blowing her



nose. Was there ever a princess who blew her nose? but Diane attempted

the impossible to convey an idea of her sensibility. D'Arthez believed



his angel was in tears; he rushed to her side, took her round the

waist, and pressed her to his heart.



"No, no, leave me!" she murmured in a feeble voice. "I have too many

doubts to be good for anything. To reconcile me with life is a task



beyond the powers of any man."

"Diane! I will love you for your whole lost life."



"No; don't speak to me thus," she answered. "At this moment I tremble,

I am ashamed as though I had committed the greatest sins."



She was now entirely restored to the innocence of little girls, and

yet her bearing was august, grand, noble as that of a queen. It is



impossible to describe the effect of these manoeuvres, so clever that

they acted like the purest truth on a soul as fresh and honest as that



of d'Arthez. The great author remained dumb with admiration, passive

beside her in the recess of that window awaiting a word, while the



princess awaited a kiss; but she was far too sacred to him for that.

Feeling cold, the princess returned to her easy-chair; her feet were



frozen.

"It will take a long time," she said to herself, looking at Daniel's



noble brow and head.

"Is this a woman?" thought that profoundobserver of human nature.



"How ought I to treat her?"

Until two o'clock in the morning they spent their time in saying to



each other the silly things that women of genius, like the princess,

know how to make adorable. Diane pretended to be too worn, too old,



too faded; D'Arthez proved to her (facts of which she was well

convinced) that her skin was the most delicate, the softest to the



touch, the whitest to the eye, the most fragrant; she was young and in

her bloom, how could she think otherwise? Thus they disputed, beauty



by beauty, detail by detail with many: "Oh! do you think so?"--"You

are beside yourself!"--"It is hope, it is fancy!"--"You will soon see



me as I am.--I am almost forty years of age. Can a man love so old a

woman?"



D'Arthez responded with impetuous and school-boy eloquence, larded

with exaggerated epithets. When the princess heard this wise and witty



writer talking the nonsense of an amorous sub-lieutenant she listened

with an absorbed air and much sensibility; but she laughed in her



sleeve.

When d'Arthez was in the street, he asked himself whether he might not



have been rather less respectful. He went over in memory those strange

confidences--which have, naturally, been much abridged here, for they



needed a volume to convey their mellifluous abundance and the graces

which accompanied them. The retrospective perspicacity of this man, so



natural, so profound, was baffled by the candor of that tale and its

poignancy, and by the tones of the princess.



"It is true," he said to himself, being unable to sleep, "there are

such dramas as that in society. Society covers great horrors with the



flowers of its elegance, the embroidery of its gossip, the wit of its

lies. We writers invent no more than the truth. Poor Diane! Michel had



penetrated that enigma; he said that beneath her covering of ice there

lay volcanoes! Bianchon and Rastignac were right; when a man can join



the grandeurs of the ideal and the enjoyments of human passion in

loving a woman of perfect manners, of intellect, of delicacy, it must



be happiness beyond words."

So thinking, he sounded the love that was in him and found it



infinite.

CHAPTER V



A TRIAL OF FAITH

The next day, about two in the afternoon, Madame d'Espard, who had



seen and heard nothing of the princess for more than a month, went to

see her under the impulse of extremecuriosity. Nothing was ever more



amusing of its kind than the conversation of these two crafty adders




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