ight. I felt that I had displeased you, but
knew not how. Now that you have explained the cause of your trouble, I
find in it fresh motive to adore you. Like the God of Israel, you are
a jealous deity, and I rejoice to see it. For what is holier and
more precious than jealousy? My fair guardian angel, jealousy is an
ever-wakeful sentinel; it is to love what pain is to the body, the
faithful herald of evil. Be jealous of your servant, Louise, I beg of
you; the harder you strike, the more contrite will he be and kiss the
rod, in all submission, which proves that he is not indifferent to you.

But, alas! dear, if the pains it cost me to vanquish my timidity and
master feelings you thought so feeble were invisible to you, will
Heaven, think you, reward them? I assure you, it needed no slight effort
to show myself to you as I was in the days before I loved. At Madrid I
was considered a good talker, and I wanted you to see for yourself the
few gifts I may possess. If this were vanity, it has been well punished.

Your last glance utterly unnerved me. Never had I so quailed, even when
the army of France was at the gates of Cadiz and I read peril for my
life in the dissembling words of my royal master. Vainly I tried to
discover the cause of your displeasure, and the lack of sympathy between
us which this fact disclosed was terrible to me. For in truth I have no
wish but to act by your will, think your thoughts, see with your eyes,
respond to your joy and suffering, as my body responds to heat and cold.
The crime and the anguish lay for me in the breach of unison in that
common life of feeling which you have made so fair.

"I have vexed her!" I exclaimed over and over again, like one
distraught. My noble, my beautiful Louise, if anything could increase
the fervor of my devotion or confirm my belief in your delicate moral
intuitions, it would be the new light which your words have thrown upon
my own feelings. Much in them, of which my mind was formerly but dimly
conscious, you have now made clear. If this be designed as chastisement,
what can be the sweetness of your rewards?

Louise, for me it was happiness enough to be accepted as your servant.
You have given me the life of which I despaired. No longer do I draw a
useless breath, I have something to spend myself for; my force has an
outlet, if only in suffering for you. Once more I say, as I have said
before, that you will never find me other than I was when first I
offered