I stood near the roadside; I looked at her as she leaned against a tree, as beautiful as the day, her long hair falling over her shoulders, her hands twitching and trembling, her cheeks suffused with color, brilliant with purple and with pearls. "Do not come near me!" she cried, "not a step!" "Oh! my love," I said, "fear nothing; if I have offended you, you know how to punish me. I was angry and I gave way to my grief; treat me as you choose, you may go away now, you may send me away! I know that you love me, Brigitte, and you are safer here than a king in his palace." As I spoke these words, Madame Pierson fixed her humid eyes on mine; I saw the happiness of my life come to me in the flash of those orbs. I crossed the road and knelt before her. How little he loves, who can recall the words he uses when he confesses that love! CHAPTER IX IF I were a jeweler, and had in my stock a pearl necklace that I wished to give a friend, it seems to me I would take great pleasure in placing it about her neck with my own hands; but if I were that friend, I would rather die than snatch the necklace from the jeweler's hand. I have seen many men hasten to give themselves to the woman they love, but I have always done the contrary, not through calculation, but through natural instinct. The woman who loves a little and resists does not love enough, and she who loves enough and resists knows that she is not sincerely loved. Madame Pierson gave evidence of more confidence in me, confessing that she loved me when she had never shown it in her actions. The respect I felt for her inspired me with such joy that her face looked to me like a blossomed flower. At times, she would abandon herself to an impulse of sudden gaiety and then suddenly check herself, treating me like a child, and then looking at me with eyes filled with tears; indulging in a thousand pleasantries, as a pretext for a more familiar word or caress, then quitting me to go aside and abandon herself to reverie. Is there a more beautiful sight? When she returned she would find me waiting for her in some spot where I had remained watching her. "Oh! my friend!" I said. "Heaven itself rejoices to see how you are loved." Yet I could neither conceal the violence of my desires, nor the pain I endured struggling against them. One evening, I told her that I had just learned of the loss of an important case, which would involve a considerable change in my affairs. "How is it," she asked, "that you make this announcement and smile at the same time?" "There is a certain maxim of a Persian poet," I replied, "'He who is loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow.'"