" Was she a large, showy flower? Forget-
me-nots were certainly by no means showy, but they were none the more
odorous for that.
Now that I was seeing the radiant Mathilde almost every day, my position
with regard to Louise seemed to me a false one. I did not yet know how
exceedingly rare an undivided feeling is, did not understand that my
feelings towards Mathilde were just as incomplete as those I cherished
for Louise. I looked on Mademoiselle Mathilde as on a work of art, but I
came more humanly close to Mademoiselle Louise. She did not evoke my
enthusiastic admiration; that was quite true, but Mademoiselle Mathilde
evoked my enthusiastic admiration only. If there were a great deal of
compassion mingled with my feelings for the Parisian, there was likewise
a slight erotic element.
The young Frenchwoman, in her passion, found expressions for affection
and tenderness, in which she forgot all pride. She lived in a
commingling, very painful for me, of happiness at my still being in
Paris, and of horror at my approaching departure, which I was now about
to accelerate, merely to escape from the extraordinary situation in
which I found myself, and which I was too young to carry. Although
Mathilde, whom I had never seen alone, was always the same, quite the
great lady, perfectly self-controlled, it was the thought of saying
good-bye to her that was the more painful to me.
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