b'How strange! How strange!His words are engraved in my heart!Would true love be such a bad thing?What do you think, my troubled soul?No man ever kindled such a flame in you.O joy I never knew, to love and to be loved!Can I disdain itfor the sterile madness of the life I lead?He may be the man whom my heart,in lonely suffering,delighted many times to paintin vague, mysterious colours!The man, reserved yet watchful,who came to my sick bed,giving me a new fever,awakening me to love!To that love that isthe pulse of the entire universe,mysterious, unattainable,a hearts torment and delight.Its madness! Im raving!Im a poor, lonely woman,abandoned in thiscrowded desertthey call Paris!What can I hope for?What can I do?Enjoy life! Drown in the vortex of pleasure!I can only freely flutterfrom joy to joy,I shall go through lifealong the paths of pleasure.As each day dawns and dies,it shall find me happy,and my spirit shall soarto ever new delights.'