The waiting-girl left the room, and falling at the feet of the unimpassioned beauty, I stammered forth my passion.
“Helena! do you know that I love you?”
She was contemplating her chin in the mirror, and replied without looking at me:
“Of course you do. Everybody does.”
“But, Helena! I cannot live without loving you.”
“That is charming. Love me then and live.”
“Helena!” said I, sternly, “you mock me. You allure me as if I were a man; and then you treat me as if I were a boy. You invite me; you evade me; you tantalize me. Can you not love me?”
“Let me see,” said she, looking up at the Judgment of Paris beautifully frescoed on the ceiling; “let me see: I love wisdom, riches, power and glory. When you are wise as Socrates, rich as Crœsus, eloquent as Cicero, and powerful as Cæsar, I will love you and give myself to you.”
“Your combination is impossible,” said I, proudly, biting my lip with failing heart and unconcealed vexation.
Her face suddenly became radiant with a yielding, tender and beautiful expression, and I added:—