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I
took her for a woman until I saw you. You have proved to me that
Camille is a man; she swims, hunts, smokes, drinks, rides on
horseback, writes and analyzes hearts and books; she has no
weaknesses; she marches on in all her strength; her motions even
have no resemblance to your graceful movements, to your step, airy
as the flight of a bird. Neither has she your voice of love, your
tender eyes, your gracious manner; she is Camille Maupin; there is
nothing of the woman about her, whereas in you are all the things
of womanhood that I love. It has seemed to me, from the first
moment when I saw you, that you were mine.
You will laugh at that fancy, but it has grown and is growing. It
seems to me unnatural, anomalous that we should be apart. You are
my soul, my life; I cannot live where you are not!
Let me love you! Let us fly! let us go into some country where you
know no one, where only God and I can reach your heart! My mother,
who loves you, might some day follow us. Ireland is full of
castles; my mother's family will lend us one.


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