while I am with you I regret every moment that I cannot philosophize with you about everything in earth or heaven. But the mouth which speaks so wisely is far too sweet, and so my senses are constantly battling with my intellect. I cannot kiss you without wishing you were talking, and I cannot hear you speak without wanting to kiss you. Is not this an unfortunate contradiction?" "Ought it not to be harmonized? Cannot people be both sensible and affectionate?" asked Cornelia. "No, my angel! In your presence I have not the necessary calmness," said _Henri_, involuntarily casting down his eyes. "Clearness of thought requires cool blood; and when I am so near you, when your sweet breath floats over me, and your warm hand rests in mine, my heart throbs violently, and sends the blood so quickly through my veins, that I can think of nothing but you and my ardent love!" "Oh, do not look at me so fiercely! Your kindling eyes pierce my soul until I cannot help blushing. You do not know how terribly your glances flash. I do not fear you, but a strange horror overwhelms me when I see you thus. I feel myself a match for the spirit that darts menacing looks from those eyes, and a shudder thrills my soul as the wind rustles gently through the banners before a battle." "So you are belligerently disposed towards me, Cornelia?" "No, indeed; except when you are in your present mood then, I know, I shall often be compelled to uphold my standard against you." "And what standard might that be?" "That of gentleness, truth: in one word, virtue," she said, simply and firmly. "Do you think me destitute of them?" "Yes. Understand me correctly. You have a multitude of great and lovable qualities which distinguish you from the million,--a multitude of _virtues_, but not the _virtue_ which we designate by one word, and in an indivisible sense. A person may not possess nearly as many noble traits, and yet be far more virtuous than you. Virtue is the pure, conscious will which unites the scattered capacities for good, and matures them to moral actions; and this quality you lack." Ottmar had become very grave. _Henri_ was present no longer: _Heinrich_ had taken his place. Cornelia laid her head upon his hands, and said, in a tone of the fondest affection: "Now you are so quiet and cold, have I vexed you?" "No, my child; but you have given me something to think about, which makes me grave. You women have a wonderful talent for moralizing. Your conscience wishes to make up for the too great indulgence of your hearts, and therefore you are the sternest censors of the man you love." "We women? Have you said the same thing to other women?" "Only one except yourself; but her theories were repellent. She gave me no proof in her own person that she possessed a cheering power in her own nature. She was a sad, pale, melancholy vision, so her influence over me also faded; yet, I shall always hold her memory sacred."