el in letting them be kissed."

"Cousin, does love then, commence in the eyes?"

"In them is the forge of Cupid's bolts, my dear Bertha," said the
lover, casting fire and flame at her.

"Let us go on with our singing."

They then sang, by Jehan's desire, a lay of Christine de Pisan, every
word of which breathed love.

"Ah! cousin, what a deep and powerful voice you have. It seems to
pierce me."

"Where?" said the impudent Sylvia.

"There," replied Bertha, touching her little diaphragm, where the
sounds of love are understood better than by the ears, but the
diaphragm lies nearer the heart, and that which is undoubtedly the
first brain, the second heart, and the third ear of the ladies. I say
this, with all respect and with all honour, for physical reasons and
for no others.

"Let us leave off singing," said Bertha; "it has too great an effect
upon me. Come to the window; we can do needlework until the evening."

"Ah! dear cousin of my soul, I don't know how to hold the needle in my
fingers, having been accustomed, to my perdition to do something else
with them."

"Eh! what did you do then all day long?"

"Ah! I yielded to the current of love, which makes days seem Instants,
months seem days, and years months; and if it could last, would gulp
down eternity like a strawberry, seeing that it is all youth and
fragrance, sweetness and endless joy."

Then the youth dropped his beautiful eyelids over his eyes, and
remained as melancholy as a poor lady who has been abandoned by her
lover, who weeps for him, wishes to kiss him, and would pardon his
perfidy, if he would but seek once again the sweet path to his
once-loved fold.

"Cousin, does love blossom in the married state?"

"Oh no," said Sylvia; "because in the married state everything is
duty, but in love everything is done in perfect freedom of heart. This
difference communicates an indescribable soft balm to those caresses
which are the flowers of love."

"Cousin, let us change the conversation; it affects me more than did
the music."

She called hastily to a servant to bring her boy to her, who came, and
when Sylvia saw him, she exclaimed--

"Ah! the little dear, he is as beautiful as love."

Then she kissed him heartily upon the forehead.

"Come, my little one," said the mother, as the child clambered into
her lap. "Thou art thy mother's blessing, her unclouded joy, the
delight of her every hour, her crown, her jewel, her own pure pearl,
her s