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134 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
was iransformed into tenderness. Surely the animal
had no part in this union of souls ! Alas ! is it ever
possible to say where the spiritual ends and the animal
begins ?
Reassured on the question of her health, she gave her-
self to me whole-heartedly ; she was radiant with joy,
content and happy ; her beauty shone out ; her eyes
sparkled. My poor attic had become a temple, a sump-
tuous palace ; I lighted the broken chandelier, my reading
lamp, all the candles, to illuminate our happiness, the joy
of living, the only thing which makes our miserable lives
endurable.
For these moments of rapture accompany us on our
thorny pilgrimage through life ; the memory of these
fleeting hours helps us to live, and outlive our former
selves.
"Don’t speak ill of love," I said to her. "Worship
nature in all her forces ; honour God, who compels us to
be happy in spite of ourselves!
"
She made no reply, for she was happy. Her yearning
was stilled ; my kisses had driven the warm blood through
her beating heart into her cheeks ; the flame of the candle
was mirrored in her eyes moist with tears ; the rainbow
tints of her veins appeared more vivid, like the plumage
of the birds in the springtime. She looked like a girl of
sixteen, so delicate, so pure were her contours ; the dainty
head with its masses of golden hair, half-buried in the
cushions, might have been a child’s.
Thus she reclined on my sofa, like a goddess, allowing
me to worship her, while she regarded me with furtive
glances, half shamefaced, half provoking.
How chaste in her abandonment is the beloved woman
when she surrenders herself to the caresses of her lover !
And man, though her superior mentally, in only happy
when he has won the woman who is his true mate. M^
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