The cardinal, on the other hand, believed me to be still in love, and praised my conduct.  He told me that I should have a letter from the superioress, and he was right; for at the end of the week she wrote me a polite note begging me to call on her, which I was obliged to obey.

I called on her, and she began by asking me plainly why my visits had ceased.

“Because I am in love with Armelline.”

“If that reason brought you here every day, I do not see how it can have suddenly operated in another direction.”

“And yet it is all quite natural; for when one loves one desires, and when one desires in vain one suffers, and continual suffering is great unhappiness.  And so you see that I am bound to act thus for my own sake.”

“I pity you, and see the wisdom of your course; but allow me to tell you that, esteeming Armelline, you have no right to lay her open to a judgment being passed upon her which is very far from the truth.”

“And what judgment is that?”

“That your love was only a whim, and that as soon as it was satisfied you abandoned her.”

“I am sorry indeed to hear of this, but what can I do?  I must cure myself of this unhappy passion.  Do you know any other remedy than absence?  Kindly advise me.”

“I don’t know much about the affection called love, but it seems to me that by slow degrees love becomes friendship, and peace is restored.”

“True, but if it is to become friendship, love must be gently treated.  If the beloved object is not very tender, love grows desperate and turns to indifference or contempt.  I neither wish to grow desperate nor to despise Armelline, who is a miracle of beauty and goodness.  I shall do my utmost for her, just as if she had made me happy, but I will see her no more.”

“I am in complete darkness on the matter.  They assure me that they have never failed in their duty towards you, and that they cannot imagine why you have ceased coming here.”

“Whether by prudence, or timidity, or a delicate wish not to say anything against me, they have told you a lie; but you deserve to know all, and my honour requires that I should tell you the whole story.”

“Please do so; you may count on my discretion.”

I then told my tale, and I saw she was moved.

“I have always tried,” she said, “never to believe evil except on compulsion, nevertheless, knowing as I do the weakness of the human heart, I could never have believed that throughout so long and intimate an acquaintance you could have kept yourself so severely within bounds.  In my opinion there would be much less harm in a kiss than in all this scandal.”

“I am sure that Armelline does not care about it.”

“She does nothing but weep.”

“Her tears probably spring from vanity, or from the cause her companions assign for my absence.”

“No, I have told them all that you are ill.”