died happy, because in him was joy with humility. He was, in fact, God's
sweet singer. And it is right that another poor poet should take his
task and teach the world true religion and true joy. I shall be that
poet, Madame, if I can despoil myself of reason and of conceit. For all
moral beauty is achieved in this world through the inconceivable wisdom
that comes from God and resembles folly."

"I shall not discourage you, Monsieur Choulette. But I am anxious about
the fate which you reserve for the poor women in your new society. You
will imprison them all in convents."

"I confess," replied Choulette, "that they embarrass me a great deal in
my project of reform. The violence with which one loves them is harsh
and injurious. The pleasure they give is not peaceful, and does not lead
to joy. I have committed for them, in my life, two or three abominable
crimes of which no one knows. I doubt whether I shall ever invite you to
supper, Madame, in the new Saint Mary of the Angels." He took his pipe,
his carpet-bag, and his stick:

"The crimes of love shall be forgiven. Or, rather, one can not do
evil when one loves purely. But sensual love is formed of hatred,
selfishness, and anger as much as of passion. Because I found you
beautiful one night, on this sofa, I was assailed by a cloud of violent
thoughts. I had come from the Albergo, where I had heard Miss Bell's
cook improvise magnificently twelve hundred verses on Spring. I was
inundated by a celestial joy which the sight of you made me lose.
It must be that a profound truth is enclosed in the curse of Eve.
For, near you, I felt reckless and wicked. I had soft words on my lips.
They were lies. I felt that I was your adversary and your enemy; I hated
you. When I saw you smile, I felt a desire to kill you."