seeing who had put it there. My mistress appeared to me the falsest of
women, and I believed that I held now the only sensible creature in the
world. Then I sighed without knowing why. She seemed grieved at having
given me pain and at having in her excitement drawn a picture, the
truth of which might be open to suspicion, since it was the work of a
woman. I do not know how I answered; for without realizing the drift
of all I heard, I set out with her on the high road of sentiment, and
we mounted to such lofty heights of feeling that it was impossible to
guess what would be the end of our journey. It was fortunate that we
also took the path towards a pavilion which she pointed out to me at
the end of the terrace, a pavilion, the witness of many sweet moments.
She described to me the furnishing of it. What a pity that she had not
the key! As she spoke we reached the pavilion and found that it was
open. The clearness of the moonlight outside did not penetrate, but
darkness has many charms. We trembled as we went in. It was a
sanctuary. Might it not be the sanctuary of love? We drew near a sofa
and sat down, and there we remained a moment listening to our
heart-beats. The last ray of the moon carried away the last scruple.
The hand which repelled me felt my heart beat. She struggled to get
away, but fell back overcome with tenderness. We talked together
through that silence in the language of thought. Nothing is more
rapturous than these mute conversations. Madame de T----- took refuge
in my arms, hid her head in my bosom, sighed and then grew calm under
my caresses. She grew melancholy, she was consoled, and she asked of
love all that love had robbed her of. The sound of the river broke the
silence of night with a gentle murmur, which seemed in harmony with
the beating of our hearts. Such was the darkness of the place it was
scarcely possible to discern objects; but through the transparent
crepe of a fair summer's night, the queen of that lovely place seemed
to me adorable.