His head was bent for he was over-tall and towered above every one else in the room. He was a head taller than she was, but he looked straight down at her as he held her, straight into her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes of hers which he had thought so cold. They were dark now, almost as dark as his own, and flashed with curious purple lights, and deep velvety shadows; her lips were parted with the effort of breathing, they were red and full, and showed glimpses of small pearly teeth, and the red moist tongue between them.
The man's heart gave a great bound of joy. This was no ice-maiden wrapped in a mantle of snow, the tips of whose chaste fingers he had hitherto hardly dared to touch with his lips. No! this was a living, breathing woman full of passion, full of the joy of life, a woman moreover who was ready to love him, to return passion for passion, and kiss for kiss.
Ye gods! Michael, but thou'rt a happy man!
He held her close in his arms, for is not God's most glorious, most perfect creation upon earth a woman who is pure the while she burns with passion? And that priceless treasure was his. Fate had given her to him, Fate and his own damnable action.
Nay, Michael, thou blackguard, if thine action be damnable, then by all the Saints in Heaven and by all the devils in Hell, do thou go and be damned, but hold this woman first.
And wild, mad thoughts went coursing through his brain, thoughts of himself and of her:
"I am a man, and what I do, I do. With mine honour did I buy thee, with mine own humiliation and shame have I conquered thee. Thou who art no snow-maiden but living lava melting at my touch, thou whom I adore, for whom were it to be done again, I would lie and I would cheat, I would descend to Hell or conquer paradise. I am a man and what I do, I do! Perish honour, perish life itself and eternal salvation if to gain honour mean to forsake thee."
These were the tumultuous coursings of his excited brain the while he held her thus, swirling and whirling in his arms, swaying as a reed in the embrace of a blasting wind.
The cloud of dust enveloped them, as, on the Brocken, the steam from unseen cauldrons envelops the witches in their revels. Through this haze Rose Marie saw nothing but his face and in it she read mayhap something that was passing in his mind, something of that passion which her mind as yet could not understand, even though her blood and heart were so ready to respond.