budding rose. At times she would abandon herself to an impulse of sudden
gayety, then she would suddenly check herself; treating me like a child,
and then look at me with eyes filled with tears; indulging in a thousand
pleasantries as a pretext for a more familiar word or caress, she would
suddenly leave me, go aside and abandon herself to revery. Was ever a
more beautiful sight? When she returned she would find me waiting for
her in the same spot where I had remained watching her.

"Oh! my friend!" I said, "Heaven itself rejoices to see how you are
loved."

Yet I could conceal neither the violence of my desires nor the pain I
endured struggling against them. One evening I told her that I had just
learned of the loss of an important case, which would involve a
considerable change in my affairs.

"How is it," she asked, "that you make this announcement and smile at the
same time?"

"There is a certain maxim of a Persian poet," I replied: "'He who is
loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow.'"

Madame Pierson made no reply; all that evening she was even more cheerful
than usual. When we played cards with her aunt and I lost she was
merciless in her scorn, saying that I knew nothing of the game, and she
bet against me with so much success that she won all I had in my purse.
When the old lady retired, she stepped out on the balcony and I followed
her in silence.

The night was beautiful; the moon was setting and the stars shone