f, he could not imagine that often
words are the same as actions.

Although he loved her, or, rather, because he loved her with strength
and confidence, he thought it his duty to resist her whims, which he
judged absurd. Whenever he played the master, he succeeded with her;
and, naively, he always ended by playing it.

"You know very well, Therese, that I wish to do nothing except to be
agreeable to you. Don't be capricious with me."

"And why should I not be capricious? If I gave myself to you, it was not
because I was logical, nor because I thought I must. It was because I
was capricious."

He looked at her, astonished and saddened.

"The word is not pleasant to you, my friend? Well let us say that it was
love. Truly it was, with all my heart, and because I felt that you
loved me. But love must be a pleasure, and if I do not find in it the
satisfaction of what you call my capriciousness, but which is really my
desire, my life, my love, I do not want it; I prefer to live alone.
You are astonishing! My caprices! Is there anything else in life? Your
foxhunt, isn't that capricious?"

He replied, very sincerely:

"If I had not promised, I swear to you, Therese, that I would sacrifice
that small pleasure with great joy."

She felt that he spoke the truth. She knew how exact he was in filling
the most trifling engagements, yet realized that if she insisted he
would not go. But it was too late: she did not wish to win. She would
seek hereafter only the violent pleasure of losing. She pretended to
take his reason seriously, and said:

"Ah, you have promised!"

And she affected to yield.

Surprised at first, he congratulated himself at last on having made her
listen to reason. He was grateful to her for not having been stubborn.
He put his arm around her waist and kissed her on the neck and eyelids
as a reward. He said:

"We may meet three or four times before I go, and more, if you wish. I
will wait for you as often as you wish to come. Will you meet me here
to-morrow?"

She gave herself the satisfaction of saying that she could not come the
next day nor any other day.

Softly she mentioned the things that prevented her.

The obstacles seemed light; calls, a gown to be tried on, a charity
fair, exhibitions. As she dilated upon the difficulties they seemed to
increase. The calls could not be postponed; there were three fairs; the
exhibitions would soon close. In fine, it was impossible for her to see
him ag