I do not know by what magic it took place; but at this point the conversation changed and became less serious. She ventured even to speak playfully of the pleasures of love, to eliminate from them all moral considerations, to reduce them to their simplest elements, and to prove that the favors of lovers were mere pleasure, that there were no pledges—philosophically speaking—excepting those which were given to the world, when we allowed it to penetrate our secrets and joined it in the acts of indiscretion. “How mild is the night,” she said, “which we have by chance picked out! Well, if there are reasons, as I suppose there are, which compel us to part to-morrow, our happiness, ignored as it is by all nature, will not leave us any ties to dissolve. There will, perhaps, be some regrets, the pleasant memory of which will give us reparation; and then there will be a mutual understanding, without all the delays, the fuss and the tyranny of legal proceedings. We are such machines—and I blush to avow it—that in place of all the shrinkings that tormented me before this scene took place, I was half inclined to embrace the boldness of these principles, and I felt already disposed to indulge in the love of liberty. “This beautiful night,” she continued, “this lovely scenery at this moment have taken on fresh charms. O let us never forget this pavilion! The chateau,” she added smilingly, “contains a still more charming place, but I dare not show you anything; you are like a child, who wishes to touch everything and breaks everything that he touches.” Moved by a sentiment of curiosity I protested that I was a very good child. She changed the subject. “This night,” she said, “would be for me without a regret if I were not vexed with myself for what I said to you about the countess. Not that I wish to find fault with you. Novelty attracts me. You have found me amiable, I should like to believe in your good faith. But the dominion of habit takes a long time to break through and I have not learned the secret of doing this—By the bye, what do you think of my husband?” “Well, he is rather cross, but I suppose he could not be otherwise to me.” “Oh, that is true, but his way of life isn’t pleasant, and he could not see you here with indifference. He might be suspicious even of our friendship.” “Oh! he is so already.” “Confess that he has cause. Therefore you must not prolong this visit; he might take it amiss. As soon as any one arrives—” and she added with a smile, “some one is going to arrive—you must go. You have to keep up appearance, you know. Remember his manner when he left us to-night.” I was tempted to interpret this adventure as a trap, but as she noticed the impression made by her words, she added: