"You are sad," said Emma.

"No; why?"

And yet he looked at her strangely in a tender fashion.

"It is because you are going away?" she went on; "because you are

leaving what is dear to you--your life? Ah! I understand. I have nothing

in the world! you are all to me; so shall I be to you. I will be your

people, your country; I will tend, I will love you!"

"How sweet you are!" he said, seizing her in his arms.

"Really!" she said with a voluptuous laugh. "Do you love me? Swear it

then!"

"Do I love you--love you? I adore you, my love."

The moon, full and purple-coloured, was rising right out of the earth

at the end of the meadow. She rose quickly between the branches of the

poplars, that hid her here and there like a black curtain pierced with

holes. Then she appeared dazzling with whiteness in the empty heavens

that she lit up, and now sailing more slowly along, let fall upon the

river a great stain that broke up into an infinity of stars; and the

silver sheen seemed to writhe through the very depths like a heedless

serpent covered with luminous scales; it also resembled some monster

candelabra all along which sparkled drops of diamonds running together.

The soft night was about them; masses of shadow filled the branches.

Emma, her eyes half closed, breathed in with deep sighs the fresh wind

that was blowing. They did not speak, lost as they were in the rush of

their reverie. The tenderness of the old days came back to their hearts,

full and silent as the flowing river, with the softness of the perfume

of the syringas, and threw across their memories shadows more immense

and more sombre than those of the still willows that lengthened out over

the grass. Often some night-animal, hedgehog or weasel, setting out on

the hunt, disturbed the lovers, or sometimes they heard a ripe peach

falling all alone from the espalier.

"Ah! what a lovely night!" said Rodolphe.

"We shall have others," replied Emma; and, as if speaking to herself:

"Yet, it will be good to travel. And yet, why should my heart be

so heavy? Is it dread of the unknown? The effect of habits left? Or

rather--? No; it is the excess of happiness. How weak I am, am I not?

Forgive me!"

"There is still time!" he cried. "Reflect! perhaps you may repent!"

"Never!" she cried impetuously. And coming closer to him: "What ill

could come to me? There is no desert, no precipice, no ocean I would not

traverse with you. The longer we live together the more it will be like

an embrace, every day closer, more heart to heart. There will be

nothing to trouble us, no cares, no obstacle. We shall be alone, all to

ourselves eternally. Oh, speak! Answer me!"




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