"It is called love," said Thyrsis.

"Ah!" responded the maiden, "that is a beautiful name. Tell me by what
signs I may know it, if it come to me. What are the feelings it gives
one?"

Thyrsis, taking heart of grace, replied with much ardour: "One feels an
anguish beside which the joys of kings are but dull and insipid. One
forgets oneself, and takes pleasure in the solitudes of the woods. To
glance into a brook is to see, not oneself, but an ever-haunting image.
To any other form one's eyes are blind. It may be that there is a
shepherd in the village at whose voice, at the mention of whose name,
you will blush; at the thought of whom you will sigh. Why, one knows
not! To see him will be a burning desire, and yet you would shrink from
him."

"Oho!" said Amaranth. "Is this then the pain you have preached so much!
It is hardly new to me. I seem to know something of it." The heart of
Thyrsis leapt, for he thought that at last he had gained his end; when
the fair one added, "'Tis just in this way that I feel for Cladimant!"

Imagine the vexation and misery of poor Thyrsis!


How many like him, intending to work solely for themselves, prove only
to have been stepping stones for others.