"There are feminine perversities," Entragues returned, "that are sufficiently frightful to content one with the metaphysics of pleasure. But I see beyond. Parallel dreams strive, at the same moment, towards the same end. Result: mutual possession at a distance. What a triumph for love! What a resource for separated lovers!"
"It is not for you to speak of our perversity, you who are endowed with such a perverse imagination."
She gasped a little for breath and fanned herself, oh! without fear, the feeble sex, and with a firm head.
A short silence followed.
This unusual costume which had first broken Entragues chain of sensation, now delighted him. He was thankful to Sixtine for not having appeared in a house robe of the latest style, for this would have swerved the talk to the vulgar stupidity of Parisian gossip or of a dialogue in modern comedy. A somewhat different intimacy with Sixtine seemed extremely desirable; a second and identical bifurcation led his sentiment, starting from curiosity, to desire.
"Introduce me to your history." He repeated to himself the first measure of the symphonic sonnet, and the very affright, in its recall, pursued the heels of the desire.
She reflectively watched him, not without little impatient movements of her fingers.
"She who would make him her slave, would doubtless make him wise."
"Yes, doubtless."
Sixtine pronounced these few words gravely, in a cordial manner.