Her forces were scattered, and she
could not summon them to her aid till this man's purpose was made
distinct.
"In all the hundred days of summer will there be a more perfect day for
love than this? Madame, you said that I had lost a valuable art; what
was it?"
Madame began vaguely to believe that he had not lost it. This man was
altogether new to her. Behind all this light converse she recognized a
power. She trembled.
"You need not tell me, Diane; I know what it is. It is the art of
making love. I had not lost it; I had thought that here it was simply
a useless art. When first I saw you I loved you as a boy loves. I ran
hither and thither at your slightest bidding; I was the veriest slave,
and I was happy in my serfdom. You could have asked me any task, and I
should have accomplished it. You were in my thoughts day and night;
not only because I loved you, but because you had cast a veil about
you. And of all enchanting mysteries the most holding to man is the
woman in the mask. You still wear a mask, Madame, only I have lifted a
corner of it. And now I love you with the full love of a man, a love
that has been analyzed and proved.
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