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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 89
much more the tricks of a mature woman who amuses
herself by teasing and bewildering a timid youth, and then
laughs at his confusion, than those of a coquette whose
object it is to excite a man’s passions.
But I must exorcise the demon, and continue to mislead
my friends. I sat down at the writing-table and wrote a
letter on the hackneyed subject of my unhappy love affair.
I added two impassioned poems entitled "To Her"
—
poems which could be understood in two ways. It was
open to the Baroness to be annoyed.
Letter and poems remained unanswered ;
perhaps the
trick had grown threadbare, perhaps the subject was no
longer found interesting.
The calm and trancjuil days which followed hastened my
recovery. The surrounding landscape seemed to have
adopted the favourite colours of the adored woman. The
wood, in which I had spent hours of purgatory, now smiled
on me. Never in my morning rambles did I find as much
as the shadow even of a painful memory lurking in its deep
recesses, where I had fought with all the demons of the
human heart. Her visit, and the certainty that I should
see her again, had given me back life and reason.
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