It may be that I shall do worse than you without any reasoning or
calculations. Passion is an element in life bound to have a logic not
less pitiless than yours.

Monday.

Yesterday night I placed myself at the window as I was going to bed,
to look at the sky, which was wonderfully clear. The stars were like
silver nails, holding up a veil of blue. In the silence of the night I
could hear some one breathing, and by the half-light of the stars I
saw my Spaniard, perched like a squirrel on the branches of one of the
trees lining the boulevard, and doubtless lost in admiration of my
windows.

The first effect of this discovery was to make me withdraw into the
room, my feet and hands quite limp and nerveless; but, beneath the
fear, I was conscious of a delicious undercurrent of joy. I was
overpowered but happy. Not one of those clever Frenchmen, who aspire
to marry me, has had the brilliant idea of spending the night in an
elm-tree at the risk of being carried off by the watch. My Spaniard
has, no doubt, been there for some time. Ah! he won't give me any more
lessons, he wants to receive them--well, he shall have one. If only he
knew what I said to myself about his superficial ugliness! Others can
philosophize besides you, Renee! It was horrid, I argued, to fall in
love with a handsome man. Is it not practically avowing that the
senses count for three parts out of four in a passion which ought to
be super-sensual?

Having got over my first alarm, I craned my neck behind the window in