“The little woman was a model, of course. She posed for him. She was pretty, very stylish-looking, and had a divine figure, it seems. He fancied that he loved her with his whole soul. That is another strange thing. As soon as one likes a woman one sincerely believes that they could not get along without her for the rest of their life. One knows that one has felt the same way before and that disgust invariably succeeded gratification; that in order to pass one's existence side by side with another there must be not a brutal, physical passion which soon dies out, but a sympathy of soul, temperament and temper. One should know how to determine in the enchantment to which one is subjected whether it proceeds from the physical, from a certain sensuous intoxication, or from a deep spiritual charm. “Well, he believed himself in love; he made her no end of promises of fidelity, and was devoted to her. “She was really attractive, gifted with that fashionable flippancy that little Parisians so readily affect. She chattered, babbled, made foolish remarks that sounded witty from the manner in which they were uttered. She used graceful gesture's which were calculated to attract a painter's eye. When she raised her arms, when she bent over, when she got into a carriage, when she held out her hand to you, her gestures were perfect and appropriate. “For three months Jean never noticed that, in reality, she was like all other models. “He rented a little house for her for the summer at Andresy. “I was there one evening when for the first time doubts came into my friend's mind. “As it was a beautiful evening we thought we would take a stroll along the bank of the river. The moon poured a flood of light on the trembling water, scattering yellow gleams along its ripples in the currents and all along the course of the wide, slow river. “We strolled along the bank, a little enthused by that vague exaltation that these dreamy evenings produce in us. We would have liked to undertake some wonderful task, to love some unknown, deliciously poetic being. We felt ourselves vibrating with raptures, longings, strange aspirations. And we were silent, our beings pervaded by the serene and living coolness of the beautiful night, the coolness of the moonlight, which seemed to penetrate one's body, permeate it, soothe one's spirit, fill it with fragrance and steep it in happiness. “Suddenly Josephine (that is her name) uttered an exclamation: “'Oh, did you see the big fish that jumped, over there?' “He replied without looking, without thinking: “'Yes, dear.' “She was angry. “'No, you did not see it, for your back was turned.' “He smiled. “'Yes, that's true. It is so delightful that I am not thinking of anything.' “She was silent, but at the end of a minute she felt as if she must say something and asked: “'Are you going to Paris to-morrow?' “'I do not know,' he replied. “She was annoyed again.