much affected by the passion you exhibit for her, but the warnings and sorrows of her friends have convinced her that the protestations of men are generally false.  I do not conceive any injustice in this, for I, who do not flatter men willingly, am persuaded that they are usually sincere on such occasions.  They become amorous of a woman, that is they experience the desire of possession.  The enchanting image of that possession bewitches them; they calculate that the delights connected with it will never end; they do not imagine that the fire which consumes them can ever weaken or die out; such a thing seems impossible to them.  Hence they swear with the best faith in the world to love us always; and to cast a doubt upon their sincerity would be inflicting a mortal injury.

But the poor fellows make more promises than they can keep.  They do not perceive that their heart has not enough energy always to hold the same object.  They cease to love without knowing why.  They are good enough to be scrupulous over their growing coldness.  Long after love has fled they continue to insist that they still love.  They exert themselves to no purpose, and after having tormented themselves as long as they can bear it, they surrender to dissatisfaction, and become inconstant with as much good faith as they possessed when they protested that they would be forever constant.  Nothing is simpler and easier to explain.  The fermentation of a budding love, excited in their heart the charm that seduced them; by and by, the enchantment is dispelled, and nonchalance follows.  With what can they be charged?  They counted upon keeping their vows.  Dear me, how many women are too happy with what is lacking, since men give them a free rein to their lightness!

However this may be, the Countess has charged up to you the inconstancy of your equals; she apprehends that you are no better than all other lovers.  Ready to yield to you, however little you may be able to reassure her, she is trying to find reasons for believing you sincere.  The love you protest for her does not offend her.  What am I saying?  It enchants her.  She is so much flattered by it, that her sole fear is that it may not be true.  Dissipate her alarms, show her that the happiness you offer her and of which she knows the price, is not an imaginary happiness.  Go farther; persuade her that she will enjoy it forever, and her resistance will disappear, her doubts will vanish, and she will seize upon everything that will destroy her suspicions and uncertainty.  She would have already believed you; already she would have resolved to yield to the pleasure of being loved, if she had believed herself really loved, and that it would last forever.