feel the need of concealment, though not a word has been uttered.  When we depart we ask leave to come again to return the borrowed clothes in person, Emile’s words are addressed to the father and mother, but his eyes seek Sophy’s, and his looks are more eloquent than his words.  Sophy says nothing by word or gesture; she seems deaf and blind, but she blushes, and that blush is an answer even plainer than that of her parents.

We receive permission to come again, though we are not invited to stay.  This is only fitting; you offer shelter to benighted travellers, but a lover does not sleep in the house of his mistress.

We have hardly left the beloved abode before Emile is thinking of taking rooms in the neighbourhood; the nearest cottage seems too far; he would like to sleep in the next ditch.  “You young fool!” I said in a tone of pity, “are you already blinded by passion?  Have you no regard for manners or for reason?  Wretched youth, you call yourself a lover and you would bring disgrace upon her you love!  What would people say of her if they knew that a young man who has been staying at her house was sleeping close by?  You say you love her!  Would you ruin her reputation?  Is that the price you offer for her parents’ hospitality?  Would you bring disgrace on her who will one day make you the happiest of men?” “Why should we trouble ourselves about the empty words and unjust suspicions of other people?” said he eagerly.  “Have you not taught me yourself to make light of them?  Who knows better than I how greatly I honour Sophy, what respect I desire to show her?  My attachment will not cause her shame, it will be her glory, it shall be worthy of her.  If my heart and my actions continually give her the homage she deserves, what harm can I do her?” “Dear Emile,” I said, as I clasped him to my heart, “you are thinking of yourself alone; learn to think for her too.  Do not compare the honour of one sex with that of the other, they rest on different foundations.  These foundations are equally firm and right, because they are both laid by nature, and that same virtue which makes you scorn what men say about yourself, binds you to respect what they say of her you love.  Your honour is in your own keeping, her honour depends on others.  To neglect it is to wound your own honour, and you fail in what is due to yourself if you do not give her the respect she deserves.”

Then while I explain the reasons for this difference, I make him realise how wrong it would be to pay no attention to it.  Who can say if he will really be Sophy’s husband?  He does not know how she feels towards him; her own heart or her parents’ will may already have formed other engagements; he knows nothing of her, perhaps there are none of those grounds of suitability which make a happy marriage.  Is he not aware that the least breath of scandal with regard to a young girl is an indelible stain, which not even marriage with him who has caused the scandal can efface?  What man of feeling would ruin the woman he loves?  What man of honour would desire that a miserable woman should for ever lament the misfortune of having found favour in his eyes?