He lives more than two leagues away.  That distance serves to temper the shafts of love.  If they lived next door to each other, or if he could drive to see her in a comfortable carriage, he would love at his ease in the Paris fashion.  Would Leander have braved death for the sake of Hero if the sea had not lain between them?  Need I say more; if my reader is able to take my meaning, he will be able to follow out my principles in detail.

The first time we went to see Sophy, we went on horseback, so as to get there more quickly.  We continue this convenient plan until our fifth visit.  We were expected; and more than half a league from the house we see people on the road.  Emile watches them, his pulse quickens as he gets nearer, he recognises Sophy and dismounts quickly; he hastens to join the charming family.  Emile is fond of good horses; his horse is fresh, he feels he is free, and gallops off across the fields; I follow and with some difficulty I succeed in catching him and bringing him back.  Unluckily Sophy is afraid of horses, and I dare not approach her.  Emile has not seen what happened, but Sophy whispers to him that he is giving his friend a great deal of trouble.  He hurries up quite ashamed of himself, takes the horses, and follows after the party.  It is only fair that each should take his turn and he rides on to get rid of our mounts.  He has to leave Sophy behind him, and he no longer thinks riding a convenient mode of travelling.  He returns out of breath and meets us half-way.

The next time, Emile will not hear of horses.  “Why,” say I, “we need only take a servant to look after them.”  “Shall we put our worthy friends to such expense?” he replies.  “You see they would insist on feeding man and horse.”  “That is true,” I reply; “theirs is the generous hospitality of the poor.  The rich man in his niggardly pride only welcomes his friends, but the poor find room for their friends’ horses.”  “Let us go on foot,” says he; “won’t you venture on the walk, when you are always so ready to share the toilsome pleasures of your child?” “I will gladly go with you,” I reply at once, “and it seems to me that love does not desire so much show.”

As we draw near, we meet the mother and daughter even further from home than on the last occasion.  We have come at a great pace.  Emile is very warm; his beloved condescends to pass her handkerchief over his cheeks.  It would take a good many horses to make us ride there after this.

But it is rather hard never to be able to spend an evening together.  Midsummer is long past and the days are growing shorter.  Whatever we say, we are not allowed to return home in the dark, and unless we make a very early start, we have to go back almost as soon as we get there.  The mother is sorry for us and uneasy on our account, and it occurs to her that, though it would not be proper for us to stay in the house, beds might be found for us in the village, if we liked to stay there occasionally.  Emile claps his hands at this idea and trembles with joy; Sophy, unwittingly, kisses her mother rather oftener than usual on the day this idea occurs to her.