My feeling for this young man is really incredible; no woman ever disturbed my peace of mind so strangely. The sound of his clear, silvery voice acts upon my nerves and excites me in a most peculiar way; my soul hangs upon his lips, like a bee upon a flower, to drink the honey of his words.--I cannot brush against him as we pass without shivering from head to foot, and in the evening, when the time comes to say good-night and he gives me his soft, satiny hand, my whole life rushes to the place he has touched and I can feel the pressure of his fingers an hour after. This morning I looked at him for a long while without his seeing me.--I was hidden behind my curtain.--He was at his window which is exactly opposite mine.--This part of the chateau was built toward the close of the reign of Henri IV.; it is half of brick, half of unhewn stone, according to the custom of the time; the window is long and narrow, with stone lintel and a stone balcony.--Théodore--for you have already guessed of course that he is the young man in question--was leaning in a melancholy attitude on the rail, and seemed to be deep in meditation.--Draperies of red damask with large flowers, half drawn aside, fell in broad folds behind him and served as a background.--How beautiful he was, and what a marvellous effect his dark, sallow face produced against the dark red! Two great bunches of hair, black and glossy, like the grape clusters of Erigone of old, fell gracefully along his cheeks and made a charming frame for the pure and delicate oval of his beautiful face. His round, plump neck was entirely bare and he wore a sort of dressing-gown with flowing sleeves not unlike a woman's robe. He held in his hand a yellow tulip, at which he plucked pitilessly in his reverie, throwing the pieces to the wind. [Illustration: Chapter IX--_This morning I looked at him for a long while without his seeing me.--I was hidden behind my curtain.--He was at his window which is exactly opposite mine.--* * *Théodore--for you have already guessed of course that he is the young man in question--was leaning in a melancholy attitude on the rail, and seemed to be deep in meditation. One of the shafts of light that the sun projected on the wall cast its reflection on the window, and the picture took on a warm golden tone that the most chatoyant of Giorgione's canvases might have envied._]