"What is the matter!" cried the young man, finding in the excess of his joy the audacity which sorrow first gave him; "What is the matter! why, I love you, Colombe!"
"Ascanio! Ascanio!" murmured Colombe, in a tone that was half reproof, half pleasure, and it must be said, as soft as a confession of love.
But they understood each other; their hearts were united, and before they were conscious of it, their lips had followed suit.
"My friend," said Colombe, softly pushing Ascanio away.
They gazed into one another's faces in ecstasy: the two angels recognized each other at last. Life does not contain two such moments.
"And so," said Ascanio, "you do not love Comte d'Orbec: you are free to love me."
"My friend," said Colombe, in her sweet, grave voice, "no one save my father ever kissed me before, and he, alas! very rarely. I am an ignorant child, and I know nothing of life; but I know from the thrill which your kiss caused me that it is my duty henceforth to belong only to you or to Heaven. Yes, if it were otherwise, I am sure that it would be a crime! Your lips have consecrated me your fiancée and your wife, and though my father himself should say no, I would listen only to the voice of God, which says yes in my heart. Here is my hand, which is yours."
"Angels of paradise, hear her and envy me!" cried Ascanio.
Such ecstasy is not to be pictured or described. Let those who can remember, remember, ft is impossible to put upon paper the words, the looks, the hand-pressures of these pure-hearted lovely children. Their spotless souls flowed together, as do the waters from two springs, without changing their nature or their color. Ascanio did not sully with the shadow of an impure thought the chaste brow of his beloved; Colombe laid her head in perfect trust upon her lover's shoulder. Had the Virgin Mary looked down upon them from on high she would not have turned her head away.
When one begins to love, one is in haste to bring to the support of his love all that he can of his past, present, and future. As soon as they could speak calmly, Ascanio and Colombe described to each other all their sorrows, all their hopes, of the days just gone by. It was charming to both to find that each had the other's story to tell. They had suffered much, and they smiled upon each other as they remembered their suffering.