dious hypocrisy. I long to see him leap from his tree to the
top of the wall, and from the wall to my balcony--and if he did, how I
should wither him with my scorn! You see, I am frank enough with you.

What restrains me? Where is the mysterious power which prevents me from
telling Felipe, dear fellow, how supremely happy he has made me by
the outpouring of his love--so pure, so absolute, so boundless, so
unobtrusive, and so overflowing?

Mme. de Mirbel is painting my portrait, and I intend to give it to him,
my dear. What surprises me more and more every day is the animation
which love puts into life. How full of interest is every hour, every
action, every trifle! and what amazing confusion between the past, the
future, and the present! One lives in three tenses at once. Is it still
so after the heights of happiness are reached? Oh! tell me, I implore
you, what is happiness? Does it soothe, or does it excite? I am horribly
restless; I seem to have lost all my bearings; a force in my heart drags
me to him, spite of reason and spite of propriety. There is this gain,
that I am better able to enter into your feelings.

Felipe's happiness consists in feeling himself mine; the aloofness of
his love, his strict obedience, irritate me, just as his attitude of
profound respect provoked me when he was only my Spanish master. I am
tempted to cry out to him as he passes, "Fool, if you love me so much as
a picture, what will it be when you know the real me?"

Oh! Renee, you burn my letters, don't you? I will burn yours. If other
eyes than ours were to read these thoughts which pass from heart to
heart, I should send Felipe to put them out, and perhaps to kill the
owners, by way of additional security.

Monday.

Oh! Renee, how is it possible to fathom the heart of man? My father
ought to introduce me to M. Bonald, since he is so learned; I would ask
him. I envy the privilege of God, who can read the undercurrents of the
heart.

Does he still worship? That is the whole question.

If ever, in gesture, glance, or tone, I were to detect the slightest
falling off in the respect he used to show me in the days when he was
my instructor in Spanish, I feel that I should have strength to put the
whole thing from me. "Why these fine words, these grand resolutions?"
you will say. Dear, I will tell you.

My fascinating father, who treats me with the devotion of an Italian
_cavaliere servente_ for his lady, had my portrait painted, as I