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 has enough light and warmth and water, so did I love to see Marie develop into full-grown womanhood, into full-grown love.

LMOST too patiently did the gardener wait. For the moment came, when Marie—blushing deeply, but like a true daughter of Eve, with mocking in her eyes—pulled my sleeve and said, 'Are you stupid?'

Some women imagine that men like them to put on pretty, terrified airs of being betrayed, to play the prude and pretend hysterical fears and tears. Such affectations may impress boys, or those green young men who think themselves criminals when a woman is lying in their arms. Men of the world, however, find no attraction in these airs and graces, which are seldom sincere, and are never original. The hypocrisy makes them angry, ruffling their tenderness as well, and it mars the beauty and solemnity of an hour which should be the sweetest memory in a woman's life.

Not so Marie! Marie, most refined of women. I praise you and thank you for that.

Y virgin bride, my Marie. Holy night, when Marie became mine!

Peace without and within. Only a single candle is burning.

I enter the room, and lo! on the bed there lies my bride, white and sweet and smiling. In devotion I kneel down and kiss her hand the giver, her