feeling of delicacy which restrained
me. My poet worships beauty; but it is a pagan worship of color and
form. The result is, a certain boldness of detail not always excusable
by grace of expression, in his description of a beautiful woman; too
lively an enthusiasm for the flesh; too great a satisfaction in drawing
lines and contours not to shock the refined. A woman poses before him
like a statue or rather like a Georgian in a slave-market, and from the
manner in which he analyzes and dissects her, you would say that he
wanted either to sell or buy her. I allude now to his speech only, which
is lively, animated but rather French its picturesque crudity. As a poet
he sculptures like Phidias, and his verse has all the dazzling purity of
marble.

I preferred to apply to Madame de Meilhan. On our return to the chateau
I questioned her, and learned that my beautiful unknown was named Madame
Louise Guerin. At that word "Madame" my heart contracted. Wherefore? I
could not tell. Afterwards I learned that she was a widow and poor, that
she lived by the labor of those pretty fingers which I had seen dabbling
in the water. Further than that, Madame de Meilhan knew nothing, her
remarks were confined to indulgent suppositions and benevolent comments.
A woman so young, so beautiful, so poor, working for her livelihood,
must be a noble and pure creature. I felt for her a respectful pity,
which her appearance in the drawing-room in all the magnificence of her
beauty, grace and youth, changed into extravagant admiration. Our eyes
met as if we had a secret between us; she appeared, and I yielded to the
charm of her presence. Edgar observed that she was his mother's
companion, who would remain with her until he married. The wretch! if he
had not written such fine verses, I would have strangled him on the
spot. I sat opposite her at dinner, and could observe her at my ease.
She appeared like a young queen at the board of one of her great
vassals. Grave and smiling, she spoke little, but so to the point, and
in so sweet a voice, that I cherished in my heart every word that fell
from her lips, like pearls from a casket. I also was silent and was
astonished, that when she did not speak, any one should dare to open his
lips before her. Edgar's witty sallies seemed to be in the worst
possible taste, and twenty times I was on the point of saying to him:
"Edgar, do you not see that the queen is listening to you?"

At dessert, as the general wa