g 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.

In a word, I was naughty, and I have not got the reward such naughtiness
brings. No, dear, however sweet the memory of that half-hour beneath
the trees, it is nothing like the excitement of th