Ninon, on the watch for a repetition of his former manifestations,
quickly perceived the return of a love so abhorrent to nature. His
sighs, glances, sadness when in her presence, were signs to her of a
passion that she would be compelled to subdue with a strong, ruthless
hand.

"Raise your eyes to that clock," she said to him one day, "and mark
the passing of time. Rash boy, it is sixty-five years since I came
into the world. Does it become me to listen to a passion like love?
Is it possible at my age to love or be loved? Enter within yourself,
Chevalier, and see how ridiculous are your desires and those you would
arouse in me."

All Ninon's remonstrances, however, tended only to increase the
desires which burned in the young man's breast. His mother's tears,
which now began to flow, were regarded by the youth as trophies of
success.

"What, tears?" he exclaimed, "you shed tears for me? Are they wrung
from your heart by pity, by tenderness? Ah, am I to be blessed?"

"This is terrible," she replied, "it is insanity. Leave me, and do not
poison the remainder of a life which I detest."

"What language is this?" exclaimed the Chevalier. "What poison can the
sweetness of making still another one happy instill into the loveliest
life? Is this the tender and philosophic Ninon? Has she not raised
between us that shadow of virtue that makes her sex adorable? What
chimeras have changed your heart? Shall I tell you? You carry your
cruelty to the extent of fighting against yourself, resisting your own