I then left her with a promise to call another day to see her father.

I never kept my promise.

The reader will see how I met her again after ten years.
How many thoughts crowded upon my mind as I left that house! What a lesson! I compared reality with the imagination, and I had to give the preference to the last, as reality is always dependent on it.

I then began to forsee a truth which has been clearly proved to me in my after life, namely, that love is only a feeling of curiosity more or less intense, grafted upon the inclination placed in us by nature that the species may be preserved.

And truly, woman is like a book, which, good or bad, must at first please us by the frontispiece.