One of the most unfortunate tendencies of inexperienced youth is to judge of the world from first impressions; but it must be confessed that there is a race of men who are also very unhappy; a race which says to youth:  “You are right in believing in evil, for we know what it is.”  I have heard, for example, a curious thing spoken of, a medium between good and evil, a certain arrangement between heartless women and men worthy of them—­apparently love, but in reality a passing sentiment.  They speak of love as of an engine constructed by a wagon-builder or a building-contractor.  They said to me:  “This and that are agreed upon, such and such phrases are spoken, and certain others are repeated in reply; letters are written in a prescribed manner, you kneel in a certain attitude.”  All is regulated as in a parade.

This made me laugh.  Unfortunately for me, I can not tell a woman whom I despise that I love her, even when I know that it is only a convention and that she will not be deceived by it.  I have never bent my knee to the ground when my heart did not go with it.  So that class of women known as facile is unknown to me, or if I allow myself to be taken with them, it is without knowing it, and through innate simplicity.

I can understand that one’s soul can be put aside, but not that it should be handled.  That there is some pride in this, I confess, but I do not intend either to boast or abase myself.  Above all things I hate those women who laugh at love, and I permit them to reciprocate the sentiment; there will never be any dispute between us.

Such women are beneath courtesans, for courtesans may lie as well as they; but courtesans are capable of love, and these women are not.  I remember a woman who loved me, and who said to a man many times richer than I, with whom she was living:  “I am weary of you, I am going to my lover.”  That woman is worth more than many others who are not despised by society.

I passed the entire season with Desgenais, and learned that my mistress had left France; that news left in my heart a feeling of languor which I could not overcome.

At the sight of that world which surrounded and was so new to me, I experienced at first a kind of bizarre curiosity, at once sad and profound, which made me look timorously at things as does a restless horse.  Then an incident occurred which made a deep impression on me.

Desgenais had with him a very beautiful woman who loved him much.  One evening as I was walking with him I told him that I considered her admirable, as much on account of her attachment for him as because of her beauty.  In short, I praised her highly and with warmth, giving him to understand that he ought to be happy.

He made no reply.  It was his manner, for he was the dryest of men.  That night when all had retired, and I had been in bed some fifteen minutes I heard a knock at my door.  I supposed it was some one of my friends who could not sleep, and invited him to enter.