He thought of writing to Mme. de Beauseant, but on mature
consideration, what can you say to a woman whom you have never seen, a
complete stranger? And Gaston had little self-confidence. Like most
young persons with a plentiful crop of illusions still standing, he
dreaded the mortifying contempt of silence more than death itself, and
shuddered at the thought of sending his first tender epistle forth to
face so many chances of being thrown on the fire. He was distracted by
innumerable conflicting ideas. But by dint of inventing chimeras,
weaving romances, and cudgeling his brains, he hit at last upon one of
the hopeful stratagems that are sure to occur to your mind if you
persevere long enough, a stratagem which must make clear to the most
inexperienced woman that here was a man who took a fervent interest in
her. The caprice of social conventions puts as many barriers between
lovers as any Oriental imagination can devise in the most delightfully
fantastic tale; indeed, the most extravagant pictures are seldom
exaggerations. In real life, as in the fairy tales, the woman belongs
to him who can reach her and set her free from the position in which
she languishes. The poorest of calenders that ever fell in love with
the daughter of the Khalif is in truth scarcely further from his lady
than Gaston de Nueil from Mme. de Beauseant. The Vicomtesse knew
absolutely nothing of M. de Nueil's wanderings round her house; Gaston
de Nueil's love grew to the height of the obstacles to overleap; and
the distance set between him and his extemporized lady-love produced
the usual effect of distance, in lending enchantment.

One day, confident in his inspiration, he hoped everything from the
love that must pour forth from his eyes. Spoken words, in his opinion,
were more eloquent than the most passionate letter; and, besides, he
would engage feminine curiosity to plead for him. He went, therefore,
to M. de Champignelles, proposing to employ that gentleman for the