It was a superb night.  It was scarcely possible to discern surrounding objects, they seemed to be covered with a veil, that imagination might be permitted to take a loftier flight.  The gardens, terraced on the side of a mountain, sloped down, platform after platform, to the banks of the Seine, and the eye took in the many windings of the stream covered with islets green and picturesque.  These variations in the landscape made up a thousand pictures which gave to the spot, naturally charming, a thousand novel features.  We walked along the most extensive of these terraces, which was covered with a thick umbrage of trees.  She had recovered from the effects of her husband’s persiflage, and as we walked along she gave me her confidence.  Confidence begets confidence, and as I told her mine, all she said to me became more intimate and more interesting.  Madame de T----- at first gave me her arm; but soon this arm became interlaced in mine, I know not how, but in some way almost lifted her up and prevented her from touching the ground.  The position was agreeable, but became at last fatiguing.  We had been walking for a long time and we still had much to say to each other.  A bank of turf appeared and she sat down without withdrawing her arm.  And in this position we began to sound the praises of mutual confidence, its charms and its delights.

“Ah!” she said to me, “who can enjoy it more than we and with less cause of fear?  I know well the tie that binds you to another, and therefore have nothing to fear.”

Perhaps she wished to be contradicted.  But I answered not a word.  We were then mutually persuaded that it was possible for us to be friends without fear of going further.

“But I was afraid, however,” I said, “that that sudden jolt in the carriage and the surprising consequences may have frightened you.”

“Oh, I am not so easily alarmed!”

“I fear it has left a little cloud on your mind?”

“What must I do to reassure you?”

“Give me the kiss here which chance—­”

“I will gladly do so; for if I do not, your vanity will lead you to think that I fear you.”

I took the kiss.

It is with kisses as with confidences, the first leads to another.  They are multiplied, they interrupt conversation, they take its place; they scarce leave time for a sigh to escape.  Silence followed.  We could hear it, for silence may be heard.  We rose without a word and began to walk again.

“We must go in,” said she, “for the air of the river is icy, and it is not worth while—­”

“I think to go in would be more dangerous,” I answered.

“Perhaps so!  Never mind, we will go in.”

“Why, is this out of consideration for me?  You wish doubtless to save me from the impressions which I may receive from such a walk as this —­the consequences which may result.  Is it for me—­for me only—?”

“You are modest,” she said smiling, “and you credit me with singular consideration.”