In spite of your high principles, you will agree with me, that unless that custom, called “politeness,” is not pushed so far as irony or treason, it is a sociable virtue to follow, and of all the relations among men, the true meaning of gallantry has more need of being concealed than that of any other social affair.  How many occasions do you not find where a lover gains more by dissimulating the excess of his passion, than another who pretends to have more than he really has?

I think I understand the Countess; she is more skillful than you.  I am certain she dissimulates her affection for you with greater care than you take to multiply proofs of yours for her.  I repeat; the less you expose yourself, the better you will be treated.  Let her worry in her turn; inspire her with the fear that she will lose you, and see her come around.  It is the surest way of finding out the true position you occupy in her heart.  Adieu.

XXII

Vanity and Self-Esteem Obstacles to Love

A silence of ten days, Marquis.  You begin to worry me in earnest.  The application you made of my counsel has, then, been successful?  I congratulate you.  What I do not approve, however, is your dissatisfaction with her for refusing to make the confession you desired.  The words:  “I love you” seem to be something precious in your estimation.  For fifteen days you have been trying to penetrate the sentiments of the Countess, and you have succeeded; you know her affection for you.  What more can you possibly want?  What further right over her heart would a confession give you?  Truly, I consider you a strange character.  You ought to know that nothing is more calculated to cause a reasonable woman to revolt, than the obstinacy with which ordinary men insist upon a declaration of their love.  I fail to understand you.  Ought not her refusal to be a thousand times more precious to a delicate minded lover than a positive declaration?  Will you ever know your real interests?  Instead of persecuting a woman on such a point, expend your energies in concealing from her the extent of her affection.  Act so that she will love you before you call her attention to the fact, before compelling her to resort to the necessity of proclaiming it.  Is it possible to experience a situation more delicious than that of seeing a heart interested in you without suspicion, growing toward you by degrees, finally becoming affectionate?  What a pleasure to enjoy secretly all her movements, to direct her sentiments, augment them, hasten them, and glory in the victory even before she has suspected that you have essayed her defeat!  That is what I call pleasure.

Believe me, Marquis, your conduct toward the Countess must be as if the open avowal of her love for you had escaped her.  Of a truth, she has not said in words:  “I love you,” but it is because she really loves you that she has refrained from saying it.  Otherwise she has done everything to convince you of it.