A tender, maternal soul guessed and calmed the painful constriction of my heart,--for a woman who feels, who knows, that she is past the joys of love becomes angelic in her treatment of others.

The duchess has never made me suffer in my sensibilities.

For ten years not a word, not a look, that could wound me! I attach more value to words, to thoughts, to looks, than ordinary men.

If a look is to me a treasure beyond all price, the slightest doubt is deadly poison; it acts instantaneously, my love dies.

I believe--contrary to the mass of men, who delight in trembling, hoping, expecting--that love can only exist in perfect, infantile, and infinite security.