It is not easy to answer in a word or a brief phrase... Love is a state of the soul.
It is an active, hidden feeling... like artistic and religious feeling... those feelings in which a man goes utterly mad!
Léa laughed scornfully and said: "Words upon words... a tedious talk. I would rather have a story about a priest or a Capuchin monk..."
Suzanne cut her off with a motion of her hand and put the question to me again: "If it is not easy to answer my question in a word or a phrase, I am ready to hear a lecture on the subject... on condition that I finally understand your own opinion..." I said to her: "That takes us away from the practical matter — as Calmy says. Are you charged with a mission from Miss Olga? What exactly does she want? We lately stayed nearly two hours sitting on the green meadow discussing everything... except the sentimental subject... She did not utter a word, nor did anything show in her to make me feel that there is blood running in her veins... and a heart beating in her breast!!" "You men are simpletons, naive... and you above all... Olga, even if she is our age... in matters of love she is still a little child..."
Léa heaved a long sigh as a sign of boredom... so I said to her, deliberately changing the subject: "Come closer, and I will tell you the story of a Capuchin monk: 'At ten o'clock in the morning, with the heat pressing hard... his reverence was walking behind his donkey across a broad plain. He grew tired and tried to climb onto the donkey's back, but his feet would not carry him... He looked for a wall or a rock to help him mount, and found none... Nothing remained but to kneel and pray to Saint Anthony. Then he rose, braced his hands on the donkey's back, and leaped with all his might... with the result that he
toppled over to the other side... Whereupon he got up, shaking the dust from his habit and saying: "Too much, Saint Anthony... I did not ask you for all this grace!"' Léa guffawed with all her might... As for Suzanne, she brought her mouth close to my ear and whispered to me something from which I turn the light away now...
The next day word reached me from Sister "Thérèse," a Sister of Charity, asking whether the pictures were ready. I answered her yes and set a time for her to collect them... I brought out the picture of the Virgin — Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows — and the picture of Christ in the Garden of Olives, and arranged the studio to receive Sister "Thérèse." She came at the appointed time with the Mother Superior and a second nun — they entered with dignity, the white wings fluttering above their heads, and knelt before the pictures, their hands clasped upon their breasts in a short prayer...
Then they rose to their feet and, one after another, expressed their admiration for the pictures and thanked me... I invited them to sit, and they sat with modesty, and the Mother Superior asked me about my health and my circumstances, and for news of my uncle the Patriarch and my sisters, the nuns...
A wave of deep emotion swept over me... of spiritual radiance and inner peace... The sight of devotion and reverence on the faces of the nuns is the true divine beauty! How far I was, at that moment, from worldly influences; from the Café du Dôme, and the drawing institute, and the old streets of Paris... even from the green meadow... All those atmospheres appeared to my inner eye as cold matter, compared with the pure, warm air that the virgins of Monsieur "Vincent" spread about me. In vain did the demon of reason try to have his word; the deep inner feeling silenced him...
They entered with dignity, the white wings fluttering above their heads.