Eugénie agreed to teach me music; she declared that I had a sweet voice and that I sang with taste; we began our lessons at once. I did not make rapid progress, but as we enjoyed the lessons, and as they gave me an opportunity to be with Eugénie, to tell her again and again that I adored her, she gave them to me often, and I could not help becoming a musician. In my turn, I was to teach her painting; she had some idea of drawing and earnestly desired to be able to use a brush; and I had no doubt in a short time she would do honor to her master. Every day increased my love for Eugénie, and every day I obtained new proofs of her attachment to me. Those delightful hours which I passed with her, but always in her mother’s presence, made me long for a still greater happiness. Why should I delay to settle my fate? Eugénie, I felt sure, would accept joyfully the title of my wife. Thus far I had spoken to her of love only, not of marriage. But what need had I to utter that word? And could Eugénie mention it to me? A well-bred young lady doesn’t ask the man who is making love to her if he proposes to marry her, for she cannot assume that he has any other purpose. She who asks such a question always places herself in an unfavorable position; it is as if she said: “I will love you when I am sure that you will marry me.” A wretched sort of love that, which one can order or countermand at will! One day I went to Madame Dumeillan’s. It was about noon. By an extraordinary chance Eugénie was alone; her mother had gone to pay a visit, and Eugénie had succeeded in excusing herself from accompanying her; she hoped that I would come. She told me so with that charming smile which transported me and filled me with rapture; she gave me her hand, which I pressed ecstatically; then I seated myself beside her, very close, as close as I possibly could. I talked to her of my love; I told her--as I had told her a hundred times before--that I was happy only with her. But one is never weary of listening to protestations of a passion which one shares; when such assurances tire us, it means that our hearts are beginning to change. As I talked with Eugénie, I passed my arm about her waist for the first time, and I drew her lovingly toward me; but she gently extricated herself and rose, saying: “Come, monsieur, come to the piano, you must take a lesson this morning.” I felt incapable of looking calmly at the notes; I detained Eugénie by the hand. “Let us continue to talk, please! We have plenty of time for the piano.” “We can talk while we practise.” “It would be impossible for me to practise this morning.” “Why so, monsieur? Do you mean that you are tired of your music lessons already?” “Oh, no! but I have so many things to say to you! It so seldom happens that I find you alone!” “Does mamma’s presence prevent you from talking with me? Don’t we talk hours at a time every evening, while they are playing cards?”