the ear as it quickened the pulsation of the blood. Her way of
uttering the terminations in "i" was like a bird's song; the "ch" as
she said it was a kiss, but the "t's" were an echo of her heart's
despotism. She thus extended, without herself knowing that she did so,
the meaning of her words, leading the soul of the listener into
regions above this earth. Many a time I have continued a discussion I
could easily have ended, many a time I have allowed myself to be
unjustly scolded that I might listen to those harmonies of the human
voice, that I might breathe the air of her soul as it left her lips,
and strain to my soul that spoken light as I would fain have strained
the speaker to my breast. A swallow's song of joy it was when she was
gay!--but when she spoke of her griefs, a swan's voice calling to its
mates!

Madame de Mortsauf's inattention to my presence enabled me to examine
her. My eyes rejoiced as they glided over the sweet speaker; they
kissed her feet, they clasped her waist, they played with the ringlets
of her hair. And yet I was a prey to terror, as all who, once in their
lives, have experienced the illimitable joys of a true passion will
understand. I feared she would detect me if I let my eyes rest upon
the shoulder I had kissed, and the fear sharpened the temptation. I
yielded, I looked, my eyes tore away the covering; I saw the mole
which lay where the pretty line between the shoulders started, and
which, ever since the ball, had sparkled in that twilight which seems
the region of the sleep of youths whose imagination is ardent and
whose life is chaste.

I can sketch for you the leading features which all eyes saw in Madame
de Mortsauf; but no drawing, however correct, no color, however warm,
can represent her to you. Her face was of those that require the