ves? Good heaven! why have I always known grief, and never hate? There
must be a bitter pleasure in hating. So many people hate!--Perhaps I may
hate this girl--Angela, as he called her, when he said, with so much
simplicity: 'A charming name, is it not, Mother Bunch?' Compare this
name, which recalls an idea so full of grace, with the ironical symbol of
my witch's deformity! Poor Agricola! poor brother! goodness is sometimes
as blind as malice, I see. Should I hate this young girl?--Why? Did she
deprive me of the beauty which charms Agricola? Can I find fault with her
for being beautiful? When I was not yet accustomed to the consequences of
my ugliness, I asked myself, with bitter curiosity, why the Creator had
endowed his creatures so unequally. The habit of pain has allowed me to
reflect calmly, and I have finished by persuading myself, that to beauty
and ugliness are attached the two most noble emotions of the
soul--admiration and compassion. Those who are like me admire beautiful
persons--such as Angela, such as Agricola--and these in their turn feel a
couching pity for such as I am. Sometimes, in spite of one's self, one
has very foolish hopes. Because Agricola, from a feeling of propriety had
never spoken to me of his love affairs, I sometimes persuaded myself that
he had none--that he loved me, and that the fear of ridicule alone was
with him, as with me, an obstacle in the way of confessing it. Yes, I
have even made verses on that subject--and those, I think, not the worst
I have written.

"Mine is a singular position! If I love, I am ridiculous; if any love me,
he is still more ridiculous. How did I come so to forget that, as to have
suffered and to suffer what I do?--But blessed be that suffering, since
it has not engendered hate--no; for I will not hate this girl--I will
Perform a sister's part to the last; I will follow the guidance of my
heart; I have the instinct of preserving others--my heart will lead and
enlighten me. My only fear is, that I shall burst into tears when I see
her, and not be able to conquer my emotion. Oh, then! what a revelation
to Agricola--a discovery of the mad love he has inspired!--Oh, never! the
day in which he knew that would be the last of my life. There would then
be within me something stronger than duty--the longing to escape from
shame--that incurable shame, that burns me like a hot iron. No, no; I
will be calm. Besides, did I not just now, when with him bear
courageously a t