"I do not wish you to suffer; I will not have it. It would be folly.
I love you, and never have loved any one but you. You may believe me; I
do not lie."

He kissed her forehead.

"If you deceived me, my dear, I should not reproach you for that; on the
contrary, I should be grateful to you. Nothing is so legitimate, so
human, as to deceive pain. What would become of us if women had not for
us the pity of untruth? Lie, my beloved, lie for the sake of charity.
Give me the dream that colors black sorrow. Lie; have no scruples. You
will only add another illusion to the illusion of love and beauty."

He sighed:

"Oh, common-sense, common wisdom!"

She asked him what he meant, and what common wisdom was. He said it was
a sensible proverb, but brutal, which it was better not to repeat.

"Repeat it all the same."

"You wish me to say it to you: 'Kissed lips do not lose their
freshness.'"

And he added:

"It is true that love preserves beauty, and that the beauty of women is
fed on caresses as bees are fed on flowers."