Emile is in love, but he is not presuming; and you will easily understand that the dignified Sophy is not the sort of girl to allow any kind of familiarity.  Yet virtue has its bounds like everything else, and she is rather to be blamed for her severity than for indulgence; even her father himself is sometimes afraid lest her lofty pride should degenerate into a haughty spirit.  When most alone, Emile dare not ask for the slightest favour, he must not even seem to desire it; and if she is gracious enough to take his arm when they are out walking, a favour which she will never permit him to claim as a right, it is only occasionally that he dare venture with a sigh to press her hand to his heart.  However, after a long period of self-restraint, he ventured secretly to kiss the hem of her dress, and several times he was lucky enough to find her willing at least to pretend she was not aware of it.  One day he attempts to take the same privilege rather more openly, and Sophy takes it into her head to be greatly offended.  He persists, she gets angry and speaks sharply to him; Emile will not put up with this without reply; the rest of the day is given over to sulks, and they part in a very ill temper.

Sophy is ill at ease; her mother is her confidant in all things, how can she keep this from her?  It is their first misunderstanding, and the misunderstanding of an hour is such a serious business.  She is sorry for what she has done, she has her mother’s permission and her father’s commands to make reparation.

The next day Emile returns somewhat earlier than usual and in a state of some anxiety.  Sophy is in her mother’s dressing-room and her father is also present.  Emile enters respectfully but gloomily.  Scarcely have her parents greeted him than Sophy turns round and holding out her hand asks him in an affectionate tone how he is.  That pretty hand is clearly held out to be kissed; he takes it but does not kiss it.  Sophy, rather ashamed of herself, withdraws her hand as best she may.  Emile, who is not used to a woman’s whims, and does not know how far caprice may be carried, does not forget so easily or make friends again all at once.  Sophy’s father, seeing her confusion, completes her discomfiture by his jokes.  The poor girl, confused and ashamed, does not know what to do with herself and would gladly have a good cry.  The more she tries to control herself the worse she feels; at last a tear escapes in spite of all she can do to prevent it.  Emile, seeing this tear, rushes towards her, falls on his knees, takes her hand and kisses it again and again with the greatest devotion.  “My word, you are too kind to her,” says her father, laughing; “if I were you, I should deal more severely with these follies, I should punish the mouth that wronged me.”  Emboldened by these words, Emile turns a suppliant eye towards her mother, and thinking she is not unwilling, he tremblingly approaches Sophy’s face; she turns away her head, and to save her mouth she exposes a blushing cheek.  The daring young man is not content with this; there is no great resistance.  What a kiss, if it were not taken under her mother’s eyes.  Have a care, Sophy, in your severity; he will be ready enough to try to kiss your dress if only you will sometimes say “No.”