The charms of this maiden enchantress rush like torrents through his heart, and he begins to drain the draughts of poison with which he is intoxicated.  He says nothing; questions pass unheeded; he sees only Sophy, he hears only Sophy; if she says a word, he opens his mouth; if her eyes are cast down, so are his; if he sees her sigh, he sighs too; it is Sophy’s heart which seems to speak in his.  What a change have these few moments wrought in her heart!  It is no longer her turn to tremble, it is Emile’s.  Farewell liberty, simplicity, frankness.  Confused, embarrassed, fearful, he dare not look about him for fear he should see that we are watching him.  Ashamed that we should read his secret, he would fain become invisible to every one, that he might feed in secret on the sight of Sophy.  Sophy, on the other hand, regains her confidence at the sight of Emile’s fear; she sees her triumph and rejoices in it.

     “No’l mostra gia, ben che in suo cor ne rida.” 
          Tasso, Jerus.  Del., c. iv. v. 33.

Her expression remains unchanged; but in spite of her modest look and downcast eyes, her tender heart is throbbing with joy, and it tells her that she has found Telemachus.

If I relate the plain and simple tale of their innocent affections you will accuse me of frivolity, but you will be mistaken.  Sufficient attention is not given to the effect which the first connection between man and woman is bound to produce on the future life of both.  People do not see that a first impression so vivid as that of love, or the liking which takes the place of love, produces lasting effects whose influence continues till death.  Works on education are crammed with wordy and unnecessary accounts of the imaginary duties of children; but there is not a word about the most important and most difficult part of their education, the crisis which forms the bridge between the child and the man.  If any part of this work is really useful, it will be because I have dwelt at great length on this matter, so essential in itself and so neglected by other authors, and because I have not allowed myself to be discouraged either by false delicacy or by the difficulties of expression.  The story of human nature is a fair romance.  Am I to blame if it is not found elsewhere?  I am trying to write the history of mankind.  If my book is a romance, the fault lies with those who deprave mankind.

This is supported by another reason; we are not dealing with a youth given over from childhood to fear, greed, envy, pride, and all those passions which are the common tools of the schoolmaster; we have to do with a youth who is not only in love for the first time, but with one who is also experiencing his first passion of any kind; very likely it will be the only strong passion he will ever know, and upon it depends the final formation of his character.  His mode of thought, his feelings, his tastes, determined by a lasting passion, are about to become so fixed that they will be incapable of further change.