and which she had not opened in the boat, loaded with passengers. At
once, after breakfast, she had closeted herself in her room, and there,
her letters unfolded on her knees, she relished hastily her furtive joy.
She was to drive at two o'clock on the mall with her father, her husband,
the Princess Seniavine; Madame Berthier-d'Eyzelles, the wife of the
Deputy, and Madame Raymond, the wife of the Academician. She had two
letters that day. The first one she read exhaled a tender aroma of love.
Jacques had never displayed more simplicity, more happiness, and more
charm.

Since he had been in love with her, he said, he had walked so lightly and
was supported by such joy that his feet did not touch the earth. He had
only one fear, which was that he might be dreaming, and might awake
unknown to her. Doubtless he was only dreaming. And what a dream! He
was like one intoxicated and singing. He had not his reason, happily.
Absent, he saw her continually. "Yes, I see you near me; I see your
lashes shading eyes the gray of which is more delicious than all the blue
of the sky and the flowers; your lips, which have the taste of a
marvellous fruit; your cheeks, where laughter puts two adorable dimples;
I see you beautiful and desired, but fleeing and gliding away; and when I
open my arms, you have gone; and I see you afar on the long, long beach,
not taller than a fairy, in your pink gown, under your parasol. Oh, so
small!--small as you were one day when I saw you from the height of the
Campanile in the square at Florence. And I say to myself, as I said that
day: 'A bit of grass would suffice to hide her from me, yet she is for me
the infinite of joy and of pain.'"

He complained of the torments of absence. And he mingled with his
complaints the smiles of fortunate love. He threatened jokingly to
surprise her at Dinard. "Do not be afraid. They will not recognize me.