One day in the spring of 1878 a young man searching for documents on Byron and Shelley came to ask her for reminiscences of them. When he pronounced these two names, there appeared beneath the old lady’s wrinkles one of those smiles, girlish yet full of promises, which had made her so fascinating at eighteen. “Come,” she said, “I suppose you are as crass as most men, and think that I loved Byron?” Then, as he looked at her with surprise: “My young friend,” said she, “no doubt you will know a woman’s heart better some day. I was dazzled, but that does not mean love. It might perhaps have grown into love, but it never did.” There was a silence. The visitor, hesitating a little, asked: “Have you never loved, Madame?” A delicate blush suffused the withered cheeks, and this time she made no reply, gazing on the ground. “Shelley?” he murmured. “With all my heart and soul,” she replied, without raising her eyes. Then with a charming coquetry she gave him a tap on the cheek with her closed fan. THE END Transcriber’s Notes Minor changes to spelling and punctuation have been made silently to achieve consistency. [The end of _Ariel (A Shelley Romance)_ by Maurois, André (Emile Salomon Wilhelm Herzog), and Ella D’Arcy (translator)]