Then the youth dropped his beautiful eyelids over his eyes, and remained as melancholy as a poor lady who has been abandoned by her lover, who weeps for him, wishes to kiss him, and would pardon his perfidy, if he would but seek once again the sweet path to his once-loved fold.

“Cousin, does love blossom in the married state?”

“Oh no,” said Sylvia; “because in the married state everything is duty, but in love everything is done in perfect freedom of heart.  This difference communicates an indescribable soft balm to those caresses which are the flowers of love.”

“Cousin, let us change the conversation; it affects me more than did the music.”

She called hastily to a servant to bring her boy to her, who came, and when Sylvia saw him, she exclaimed—­

“Ah! the little dear, he is as beautiful as love.”

Then she kissed him heartily upon the forehead.

“Come, my little one,” said the mother, as the child clambered into her lap.  “Thou art thy mother’s blessing, her unclouded joy, the delight of her every hour, her crown, her jewel, her own pure pearl, her spotless soul, her treasure, her morning and evening star, her only flame, and her heart’s darling.  Give me thy hands, that I may eat them; give me thine ears, that I may bite them; give me thy head, that I may kiss thy curls.  Be happy sweet flower of my body, that I may be happy too.”

“Ah! cousin,” said Sylvia, “you are speaking the language of love to him.”

“Love is a child then?”

“Yes, cousin; therefore the heathen always portrayed him as a little boy.”

And with many other remarks fertile in the imagery of love, the two pretty cousins amused themselves until supper time, playing with the child.

“Would you like to have another?” whispered Jehan, at an opportune moment, into his cousin’s ear, which he touched with his warm lips.

“Ah!  Sylvia! for that I would ensure a hundred years of purgatory, if it would only please God to give me that joy.  But in spite of the work, labour, and industry of my spouse, which causes me much pain, my waist does not vary in size.  Alas!  It is nothing to have but one child.  If I hear the sound of a cry in the castle, my heart beats ready to burst.  I fear man and beast alike for this innocent darling; I dread volts, passes, and manual exercises; in fact, I dread everything.  I live not in myself, but in him alone.  And, alas!  I like to endure these miseries, because when I fidget, and tremble, it is a sign that my offspring is safe and sound.  To be brief—­for I am never weary of talking on this subject—­I believe that my breath is in him, and not in myself.”