I could have gone on looking at her all my life, without dreaming of addressing her. I did not observe the silence that had succeeded to the roar of the fountain, I do not even know whether I stood gazing at her for a moment or for an hour. It seemed to me of a sudden—as if I had always seen her, always known her—it was, perhaps, because I was living a century in a moment’s space. She was the first to speak. I heard but could not understand all at once, for the silvery tones of her voice, like her supernatural beauty, served to complete the illusion. I listened as if to music, without seeking to attach any particular sense to her words. At last I made an effort to shake off this stupor and heard her ask if I could see her. I know not what I answered, for she added: “Under what guise dost thou behold me?” It was only then that I remarked she addressed me as “thou.” I felt myself drawn to reply in the same fashion, for if she spoke to me _en reine_, I addressed her as a divinity. “I see thee,” I replied, “as a being to whom naught upon this earth can compare.” It seemed to me that she blushed, for my eyes were becoming accustomed to the sea-green light which inundated her figure. I beheld her, white as a lily, with the fresh tint of youth upon her cheek, a melancholy smile added to her charms. “What do you see extraordinary in me?” said she. “Beauty,” I replied, briefly. I was too much moved to add more. “My beauty,” answered she, “is an effect of the imagination; for it does not exist in a form that thou canst appreciate. All that is here of me is my mind. Address me then as a soul and not as a woman. About what did you wish me to advise you?” “I no longer remember.” “And the cause of this forgetfulness?” “Is thy presence.” “Try to remember.” “No, I do not wish to.” “Then, adieu!” “No, no,” I exclaimed, approaching her, as if to retain her, but I stopped short—terrified, for the light suddenly paled and the apparition seemed fading away. “In the name of heaven, remain!” I went on, with anguish. “I am submissive, my love for you is chaste.” “What love?” she asked, reassuming her brilliancy. “What love? I know not. Did I speak of love? Oh, yes, I remember now. Yesterday I loved a woman and I wished to please her, to work her will at the risk of betraying my duty. If you are a pure essence, as I believe, you know everything. Must I then explain?” “No, I know the facts that concern the posterity of the family whose name I bear.” “But I am no divinity, I cannot read souls, I did not know that thou lovedst.” “I love no one. At this moment I love nothing upon earth, and I would like to die if in another state of existence I could follow you.” “Thou talkest wildly. To be happy after death, it is necessary to have led a pure life. Thou hast a difficult duty to fulfill, and it is for this that thou hast summoned me. Perform thy duty then or thou wilt never see me more.”