"Alas! I know tears only too well!"
Being a woman of experience, she imagined that she possessed the secret remedy for my secret sorrow.
She rose from the sofa and pretended to be interested in the papers scattered about on the floor.
"You seemed to be stretched out on the grass when I came in," she said, smiling archly. "What fun to make hay in the middle of the winter!"
She sat down on a pile of papers; I threw myself down beside her. Another hailstorm of kisses, the goddess stooped towards me, ready to surrender.
Gradually I drew her closer to me, holding her captive with my lips, so as not to give her time to break the spell my eyes had cast over her, and free herself. We sat on the "grass" like lovers, yielding to our passion like fully dressed angels, and rose up content, happy, without remorse, like angels who have not fallen.
Love is inventive! We had sinned without sinning, yielded without surrendering. How precious is the love of a woman of experience! She is merciful to the young apprentice; she finds her pleasure in giving, not in receiving....
Suddenly she recovered her senses, remembered the claims of reality and prepared to go.
"Until to-morrow, then!"
"Until to-morrow!"