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IX
What unparalleled guilelessness it argues to believe
that there could be love Avithout passion ! There was
danger even in the secret Avliich existed between us. It
was like a child conceived in secrecy, it grew and strove to
see the light.
Our longing to meet and compare notes increased ; we
yearned to live again through the last year in which we
had been trying to deceive one another. We resorted to
all kinds of trickery. I introduced the Baroness to my
sister, who, having married the head-master of a school,
a man with an old, aristocratic name, in a way belonged
to her set.
We often met by appointment ; our meetings were
harmless to begin with, but after a while passion sprang
up and desire awoke.
In the first days following our mutual confession, she
gave me a packet of letters, written partly before, partly
after the thirteenth of March. These letters, into which
she had poured all her sorrow, all her love, had never
been intended to reach me.
^’Monday.
"My dear Friend,
’’I am longing to see you, to-day as always. I
want to thank you for listening to me yesterday without
that sarcastic smile with which it is now your rule to
regard me ! I turn to you trustfully, at a moment when
I am in dire need of your friendship, and you cover your
face with a mask. Why ? Is it nçcessary that you should
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