It is so hard for one to have anything to one's self in this world! every candle attracts so many moths, every treasure attracts so many thieves!--I love the silent men who carry their ideas to the grave and do not choose to abandon them to the filthy kisses and shameless handling of the vulgar crowd. Those lovers please me best who do not carve their mistress's name on the bark of any tree, who confide it to no echo, and who, while they sleep, are haunted by the fear that they may utter it in a dream. I am one of that number; I have not divulged my thoughts and no one shall know my love.--But it is almost eleven o'clock, my dear Théodore, and I am preventing your taking rest that you must sadly need. When I am obliged to leave you I always have a feeling of oppression at my heart, and it seems to me as if it were the last time I should ever see you. I postpone it as long as I can; but I always have to go at last. Good-night, for I am afraid D'Albert may be looking for me; good-night, my dear friend. Théodore put his arm around her waist and thus escorted her to the door; there he stopped and followed her a long time with his glance; the corridor was lighted at intervals by small windows with narrow panes, through which the moon shone, making alternate light and dark patches of fantastic shape. At each window Rosette's pure, white form gleamed like a silvery phantom; then it vanished to appear, even more brilliant, a little farther away; at last it disappeared altogether. Théodore stood for some moments motionless, with folded arms, as if buried in profound meditation; then he passed his hand over his forehead and threw back his hair with a jerk of his head, returned to his room, and went to bed after kissing the brow of the page, who was still asleep. VII As soon as the daylight entered Rosette's room, D'Albert made his appearance, with an eagerness that was not usual with him. "Here you are," said Rosette, "I would say very early, if you could ever arrive early.--To reward you for your gallantry I present you my hand to kiss." And she drew from beneath the sheet of Flemish linen trimmed with lace the prettiest little hand that was ever seen at the end of a plump, well-shaped arm. D'Albert kissed it with compunction:--"And the other, little sister, are we not to kiss that too?" _"Mon Dieu_, yes! nothing is easier. I am in my Sunday humor to-day; here."--And she extended her other hand with which she tapped him lightly on the lips.--"Am I not the most obliging woman on earth?" "You are grace itself, and temples of white marble should be erected to you in thickets of myrtle.--Really, I am very much afraid that the same thing will happen to you that happened to Psyche, and that Venus will be jealous of you," said D'Albert, taking the fair one's hands in one of his and raising them together to his lips.