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110 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
"No, no! He must know nothing; and since he per-
mits himself every Hcence "
’’There I don’t agree with you! The cases are not
identical. If he chooses to degrade himself, so much the
worse for him. But that’s no reason why "
"No, no! ..."
The ecstasy was over. We had come back to earth.
"No! No!" I repeated. "And don’t you agree
that it’s beautiful, new, almost unique—to love, to tell
one another of it. . . . Nothing else !
’’
’"It’s as beautiful as a romance," she cried, clapping
her hands like a child.
" But it doesn’t generally happen like that in fiction !
"
" And how good it is to remain honest! "
" The only thing to do !
"
" And we shall always meet as before, without
fear
"
"And Avithout reproach "
"And Avithout misunderstandings! And you are sure
that Matilda is nothing "
"Oh! hush! "
The door opened. How commonplace ! The two old
gentlemen crossed the drawing-room carrying a dark
lantern.
"Notice how life is a medley of petty troubles and
divine moments! " I said to her; "notice how reality
differs from fiction. Could I dare to draw a scene like
this in a novel or a drama without being accused of being
liumdrum ? Just think—a confession of love without
kisses, genuflexions or protestations, terminated by the
appearance of two old men throwing the light of a dark
lantern on the lovers ! And yet therein lies the secret of
Shakespeare’s greatness, who shows us Julius Ceesar in
dressing-gown and slippers, starting from his sleep at
night, frightened by childish dreams."
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