It would be difficult to give you all the details of our new life. It

was made up of a series of little childish events, charming for us but

insignificant to any one else. You know what it is to be in love with

a woman, you know how it cuts short the days, and with what loving

listlessness one drifts into the morrow. You know that forgetfulness of

everything which comes of a violent confident, reciprocated love. Every

being who is not the beloved one seems a useless being in creation. One

regrets having cast scraps of one's heart to other women, and one can

not believe in the possibility of ever pressing another hand than that

which one holds between one's hands. The mind admits neither work nor

remembrance; nothing, in short, which can distract it from the one

thought in which it is ceaselessly absorbed. Every day one discovers in

one's mistress a new charm and unknown delights. Existence itself is but

the unceasing accomplishment of an unchanging desire; the soul is but

the vestal charged to feed the sacred fire of love.

We often went at night-time to sit in the little wood above the house;

there we listened to the cheerful harmonies of evening, both of us

thinking of the coming hours which should leave us to one another till

the dawn of day. At other times we did not get up all day; we did not

even let the sunlight enter our room.

The curtains were hermetically closed, and for a moment the external

world did not exist for us. Nanine alone had the right to open our door,

but only to bring in our meals and even these we took without getting

up, interrupting them with laughter and gaiety. To that succeeded a

brief sleep, for, disappearing into the depths of our love, we were like

two divers who only come to the surface to take breath.

Nevertheless, I surprised moments of sadness, even tears, in Marguerite;

I asked her the cause of her trouble, and she answered: "Our love is not like other loves, my Armand. You love me as if I had

never belonged to another, and I tremble lest later on, repenting of

your love, and accusing me of my past, you should let me fall back into

that life from which you have taken me. I think that now that I have

tasted of another life, I should die if I went back to the old one. Tell

me that you will never leave me!"

"I swear it!"

At these words she looked at me as if to read in my eyes whether my oath

was sincere; then flung herself into my arms, and, hiding her head in my

bosom, said to me: "You don't know how much I love you!"




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