“That kiss was an era in her life. Innocence itself, she had put up her delicious lips to her lover in pure, though earnest, affection; but the male fire with which his met them made her blush as well as thrill, and she drew back a little, abashed and half scared, and nestled on his shoulder, hiding a face that grew redder and redder.”
Burton, in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,” notices those irritating coquettes, Aretine’s Lucretia, and Philinna, in Lucian, the former of whom boasted that she had a suitor who loved her dearly, but the more eagerly he wooed the more she seemed to neglect and to scorn him, and what she commonly accorded to others—freedom in social intercourse, even to the extent of osculation—she refused to him; while the latter, in the presence of her sweetheart Diphilus, kissed Lamprius, his co-rival, in order to whet the jealousy of the favorite. Our modern novelists give very little space to character and conduct of this sort, but in the way of provokingly cool indifference in the sterner sex to the charms and fascinations of the fair, we find such instances as this, which occurs in Mühlbach’s “Joseph the Second and his Court,” in an interview between Kaunitz, the prime minister, and La Foliazzi:
“‘Vraiment, you are very presuming to suppose that I shall trouble myself to come in the carriage’ replied Kaunitz, contemptuously. ‘It is enough that, the coach being there, the world will suppose that I am there also. A man of fashion must have the name of possessing a mistress; but a statesman cannot waste his valuable time on women. You are my mistress, ostensibly, and therefore I give you a year’s salary of four thousand guilders.’
“‘You are an angel—a god!’ cried La Foliazzi, this time with genuine rapture. ‘You come upon one like Jupiter, in a shower of gold.’
“‘Yes, but I have no wish to fall into the embraces of my Danaë. Now, hear my last words. If you ever dare let it transpire that you are not really my mistress, I shall punish you severely. I will not only stop your salary, but I will cite you before the committee of morals, and you shall be forced into a marriage with somebody.’
“The singer shuddered and drew back. ‘Let me go at once into my boudoir. Is my breakfast ready?’
“‘No; your morning visits there begin to-morrow. Now go home to Count Palffy, and do not forget our contract.’
“‘I shall not forget it, prince,’ replied the signora, smiling. ‘I await your coach this evening. You may kiss me if you choose.’ She bent her head to his and held out her delicate cheek, fresh as a rose.