“I imagined that she might be a Jewess.  I followed her, and then turned round to look at her, as did many others.  She walked with a swinging gait that was not graceful, but somehow attracted one.  At the Place de la Concorde she took a carriage, and I stood there like a fool, moved by the strongest desire that had ever assailed me.

“For about three weeks I thought only of her; and then her memory passed out of my mind.

“Six months later I descried her in the Rue de la Paix again.  On seeing her I felt the same shock that one experiences on seeing a once dearly loved woman.  I stopped that I might better observe her.  When she passed close enough to touch me I felt as though I were standing before a red hot furnace.  Then, when she had passed by, I noticed a delicious sensation, as of a cooling breeze blowing over my face.  I did not follow her.  I was afraid of doing something foolish.  I was afraid of myself.

“She haunted all my dreams.

“It was a year before I saw her again.  But just as the sun was going down on one beautiful evening in May I recognized her walking along the Avenue des Champs-Elysees.  The Arc de Triomphe stood out in bold relief against the fiery glow of the sky.  A golden haze filled the air; it was one of those delightful spring evenings which are the glory of Paris.

“I followed her, tormented by a desire to address her, to kneel before her, to pour forth the emotion which was choking me.  Twice I passed by her only to fall back, and each time as I passed by I felt this sensation, as of scorching heat, which I had noticed in the Rue de la Paix.

“She glanced at me, and then I saw her enter a house on the Rue de Presbourg.  I waited for her two hours and she did not come out.  Then I decided to question the janitor.  He seemed not to understand me.  ’She must be visiting some one,’ he said.

“The next time I was eight months without seeing her.  But one freezing morning in January, I was walking along the Boulevard Malesherbes at a dog trot, so as to keep warm, when at the corner I bumped into a woman and knocked a small package out of her hand.  I tried to apologize.  It was she!

“At first I stood stock still from the shock; then having returned to her the package which she had dropped, I said abruptly: 

“’I am both grieved and delighted, madame, to have jostled you.  For more than two years I have known you, admired you, and had the most ardent wish to be presented to you; nevertheless I have been unable to find out who you are, or where you live.  Please excuse these foolish words.  Attribute them to a passionate desire to be numbered among your acquaintances.  Such sentiments can surely offend you in no way!  You do not know me.  My name is Baron Roger des Annettes.  Make inquiries about me, and you will find that I am a gentleman.  Now, if you refuse my request, you will throw me into abject misery.  Please be good to me and tell me how I can see you.’