" Why should not the novelist take a hint
from this worthy lady, and refrain from exhausting the theme and the
reader? Some few passages of coquetry it would certainly be pleasant
to give in outline; the story of Mme. de Beauseant's demurs and sweet
delayings, that, like the vestal virgins of antiquity, she might fall
gracefully, and by lingering over the innocent raptures of first love
draw from it its utmost strength and sweetness. M. de Nueil was at an
age when a man is the dupe of these caprices, of the fence which women
delight to prolong; either to dictate their own terms, or to enjoy the
sense of their power yet longer, knowing instinctively as they do that
it must soon grow less. But, after all, these little boudoir
protocols, less numerous than those of the Congress of London, are too
small to be worth mention in the history of this passion.
For three years Mme. de Beauseant and M. de Nueil lived in the villa
on the lake of Geneva. They lived quite alone, received no visitors,
caused no talk, rose late, went out together upon the lake, knew, in
short, the happiness of which we all of us dream. It was a simple
little house, with green shutters, and broad balconies shaded with
awnings, a house contrived of set purpose for lovers, with its white
couches, soundless carpets, and fresh hangings, everything within it
reflecting their joy.
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