"You are very proud of your intelligence! You love your intelligence more than you do me."
"But I love you, you wretch, more than you love yourself. The more beautiful and the more good you are, the more I love you."
"You are a schoolmaster," she said with asperity.
"What would you? I love what is beautiful. Anything ugly disgusts me."
"Even in me?"
"Especially in you."
She drummed angrily with her foot.
"I will not be judged."
"Then complain of what I judge you to be, and of what I love in you," said he tenderly to appease her.
She let him take her in his arms, and deigned to smile, and let him kiss her. But in a moment when he thought she had forgotten she asked uneasily: