And now you have spoiled my treasure! But I forgive you; you live in Paris and, as you say, there is always a man within a poet.
Because I tell you this will you think me some little girl who cultivates a garden-full of illusions?
You, who are witty and wise, have you not guessed that when Mademoiselle d'Este received your pedantic lesson she said to herself: "No, dear poet, my first letter was not the pebble which a vagabond child flings about the highway to frighten the owner of the adjacent fruit-trees, but a net carefully and prudently thrown by a fisherman seated on a rock above the sea, hoping and expecting a miraculous draught." All that you say so beautifully about the family has my approval.
The man who is able to please me, and of whom I believe myself worthy, will have my heart and my life,--with the consent of my parents, for I will neither grieve them, nor take them unawares: happily, I am certain of reigning over them; and, besides, they are wholly without prejudice.

Indeed, in every way, I feel myself protected against any delusions in my dream.

I have built the fortress with my own hands, and I have let it be fortified by the boundless devotion of those who watch over me as if I were a treasure,--not that I am unable to defend myself in the open, if need be; for, let me say, circumstances have furnished me with armor of proof on which is engraved the word "Disdain." I have the deepest horror of all that is calculating,--of all that is not pure, disinterested, and wholly noble.

I worship the beautiful, the ideal, without being romantic; though I HAVE been, in my heart of hearts, in my dreams.

But I recognize the truth of the various things, just even to vulgarity, which you have written me about Society and social life.
For the time being we are, and we can only be, two friends.