clock was on the point of striking twelve, I thought it right to take
my leave first, so as to create no suspicion of too great familiarity
in the mind of a friend and visitor of older standing than myself in
the house. Silence and one single look were the only reward I received
for my long and ardent expectation and my weary journey; but I bore
away with me her image and the certainty of seeing her every day,--that
was enough; it was too much. I wandered a long while on the quays,
baring my breast to the night air, and inhaling it with my lips, to
allay the fever of happiness which possessed me. On my return home, I
found that V---- had been asleep many hours; as for me, it was
daylight, and I had heard the cries of the venders in the streets of
Paris before I closed my eyes.

* * * * *

My days were filled with one single thought, which I treasured up in my
heart, and would not even allow my countenance to reveal, as a precious
perfume of which one would fear to let a particle evaporate by exposing
the vase that contains it to the outward air. I used to rise with the
first rays of light, which always penetrated tardily into the dark
alcove of the little ante-room where my friend gave me shelter like a
mendicant of love. I always began the day by a long letter to Julie,
which was but a calmer continuation of the conversation of the day
before; in it I poured forth all the thoughts that had suggested
themselves since I had left her. Love feels delightful remorse at its
tender omissions; accuses, reproaches itself, and feels no rest till
they have been repaired. They are gems fallen from the heart or the
lips of the loved one, which cause the lover's thoughts to travel back
over the past, to gather them up, and to increase the treasure of his
feelings. Julie, when she awoke, received my letter, which made it