"Next day the _Triumph of Bacchus_ was played. I appeared as Ariadne, all covered with vine-leaves and flowers. I never danced so badly. I had recognized Monsieur de Marteille among the gentlemen of the court. He looked at me with a serious air. I had hoped to have had an opportunity to speak with him before the end of the ballet, but he had already gone. I was offended at his abrupt departure.—’How!’ said I to myself, ’he sees me dance, and this is the way he makes me his compliments.’—Next morning, he breakfasted with us; he did not say a word about the evening; finally, not being able to resist my impatience, ’Well, Monsieur de Marteille,’ said I to him, somewhat harshly, ’you left early last night; it was hardly polite of you.’—’Ah! when you were to dance no more!’ said he, with a sigh. This was the first time that I was ever spoken to thus. Fearing that he had said too much, and in order to divert Monsieur de Melun, who observed him with a look of surprise, he began to speak of a little singer of no great moment, who had a voice of some freshness. "In the afternoon, the count detained at home for some reason or other, begged his cousin to accompany me in a ride to the woods. He was to join us on horseback. The idea of this ride made my heart beat violently. It was the first time that I had listened with pleasure to the beatings of my heart. "We started on a fine summer’s day. Every thing was like a holyday: the sky, the houses, the trees, the horses, and the people. A veil had fallen from my eyes. For some minutes we remained in the deepest silence; not knowing what to do, I amused myself by making a diamond that I wore glisten in the rays of the sun that entered the carriage. Monsieur de Marteille caught hold of my hand. We both said not a word the whole time. I tried to disengage my hand; he held it the harder. I blushed; he turned pale. A jolt of the carriage occurred very opportunely to relieve us from our embarrassment; the jolt had lifted me from my seat; it made me fall upon his bosom.—’Monsieur,’ said I, starting. ’Ah, madame, if you knew how I love you!’—He said this with a tenderness beyond expression; it was love itself that spoke! I had no longer the strength to get angry. He took my hand again and devoured it with kisses. He did not say another word; I tried to speak, but did not know what to say myself. From time to time our looks met each other; it was then that we were eloquent. Such eternal pledges, such promises of happiness!