ROUSSEAU. 165 



feels his situation so bitterly, that he is tempted 

 for a moment to plunge into the water, dragging her 

 after him ; but he rushes away from her side, and 

 weeps violently in the prow. All this is nothing; 

 and indeed the violence of the scene is revolting ; but 

 we are recompensed by what follows and closes it. 

 He comes and sits down again by her ; " Elle tenait 

 son mouchoir ; je le sentis fort mouille. Ah ! lui dis-je 

 tout bas, je vois que nos coeurs n'ont jamais cesse *de 

 s'entendre !" She admits it in a faltering voice, and 

 desires their hearts may never more so commune. 

 They then speak calmly, and he afterwards observes, 

 on landing and coming to the light, that she had 

 been weeping her eyes were red and inflamed. This 

 is finely done ; but with two great faults, the worst 

 which such painting can have a piece of wit and an 

 overdone and a needless description. An epigram, almost 

 a pleasantry, is introduced, when he says and it is the 

 working up of the whole that their hearts had plainly 

 never ceased to hear or to understand each other ; she 

 answers with a repartee. Instead of stopping at " II est 

 vrai," or saying nothing, being unable to speak, which 

 would have been better, she goes on, " Ma is que ce 

 soit la derniere fois." Even there she might have 

 ended, giving the moral rebuke ; but she goes on, 

 " Mais que ce soit la derniere fois qu'ils auront parle 

 sur ce ton." Then what reason was there for his 

 " J'apergus a la lumiere, qu'elle avait les yeux rouges et 

 forte gonfles, et elle ne dut pas trouver les miens en meil- 

 leur etat," after the wet handkerchief and faltering 

 voice in the boat, and his own agony in the prow ? Such 

 scenes as these require the very greatest care and the 



