cause those hours put a stop to your activity. There is no
way then of going to see Madame Such-a-one, or Gluck, etc.,
or of doing a hundred useless things, in which you seem to
take an interest solely to leave me earlier. Do not think
that these are reproaches ; they are only remarks which I
cannot, with the degree of interest that I feel, prevent myself
from making. But I am so far from wishing to exact any-
thing that I tell myself, a hundred times a day, it is myself
over whom I ought to hold empire ; I ought to reduce my
feelings to the point where, not having sufficient force to
wring the soul, we claim nothing and are grateful for all ; in
other words, if passion be in my soul I ought to conquer
it rather than seek to make you share it. And do you know,
mon ami, what it is that may enable me to find the strength
to do so ? It is the inward conviction which I have that
it is not in you to make the happiness of an active and pas-
sionate soul. I shall not say to you what it would be so
natural to think, namely : that I am not made to inspire
a deep sentiment ; that I ought not to pretend to please, to
fix a heart. All that is true, no doubt ; but it is not that
which makes me tell you that it is not in you to make the
happiness of a strong and feeling soul. I will give to that
soul the face of Mme. de Forcalquier, the nobleness of Mme.
de Brionne, the graces of Aglae, and the wit of Mme. de . . .
adorned, or rather, grafted with that of Mme. de Boufflers,
and when I have composed that perfect being I say again
that it is not in you to make her happiness. Why so ?
Ah ! why ? — because, with you, loving is a mere incident
of your age, and is not a part of your soul, though it agitates
it occasionally ; your soul is, above all things, lofty, noble,
grand, active, but it is neither tender nor impassioned.
Ah ! believe me, I am in despair at seeing to such depths ; I have such need of loving, such pleasure in loving that
