"Ah! but when one loves a woman, one loves her with all her failings."
"My theory is that when one really loves, one is not capricious in dealing with the object of one's love. Consequently, I am persuaded that all these women who have caprices don't know what it is to love."
"Perhaps you are right. But I think that Armantine is in reality very susceptible."
"You think so? You are not sure?"
"How is one to be sure of other people? one is not always sure of one's self."
We sat for some time without speaking; but to me that silence was not without charm. It is often pleasant to think, in the company of a person who is thinking at the same time.
Suddenly Frédérique looked me in the face and said:
"Well, Charles! you don't seem to talk about Armantine?"
"I have so little hope!"
"Oho! monsieur plays the modest adorer! After all, I don't pretend to say that she will yield to you. That is a mystery—the secret of the gods."