“What fact?”
“That I am jealous, envious; that now I long for what is no longer mine.”
The worthy priest looked up and raised his head: nay, not content with this, but wishing, it would seem, to let the light of his eyes shine forth like a beacon to guide the wandering seaman, he rose to his feet and stood looking down on his penitent. He was in fact uncomfortable, ill at ease, and, if the truth must be told, not entirely pleased with himself.
“My dear lady,” he went on, piercing her with his glance as an angel might pierce with his sword, “I shall be compelled to speak to you with a severity which ill accords with the friendship—Friendship, do I say?—respect, veneration, which I feel for you; for indeed your many and great perfections have made me cease to regard you as a penitent or even as a friend in the Lord; I have learnt to think of you as a saint, as a pure and exquisite creature, far above myself in every respect. And now...!”
There was a pause. María, moved by this appeal, folded her white hands and exclaimed fervently:
“O Lord! and my precious brother! come both of you and help me!”
“Call upon them with a heart purified from all baser affections, which are, as I may say, the rust of the soul,” said Paoletti, feeling the fount of his eloquence unsealed. “If you call upon them so, they will respond. A fervent spiritual impulsion, my sweet friend,” and he pressed his hand to his heart as though he were clutching it. “A deep yearning from the soul, an afflatus arising from two aspirations: the desire to cast off this foul body and the craving to fly up and away to the radiant and serene realm above, never to return. Courage, beautiful soul—on whose wings we may already see the pearly reflections of the glorious day of Paradise—courage! and let not your wings droop. You are near the goal. Gaze upwards,” and he suited the action to the word, “do not look down; that will make you giddy—look up, and you will see the loveliness and splendour that lies before you, infinitely beyond anything that your fancy can dream of in its most rapturous flights. There you will hear celestial strains, and feel that exquisite and joyful ease which will wrap you in ecstasy, in a robe of ravishment, and in heavenly contemplation. Do not look back, seraphic soul, I entreat you; for your own sake and for ours who look on you as an example, for the Glory of God who made you so perfect as His crowning work, for His own pleasure and glory; on my knees I beseech you—I a humble priest of no worth, of no account, but that it has been my privilege to lead you in the path to eternal joys, oh beatific soul! Thus winning some small merit which is as nothing by the side of yours.”
There was a silence. Paoletti was a man of entire good faith and meant all he said; he knelt down and clasped his hands.
“You—on your knees,” murmured María. “No no—not that. I will do as you desire me. But how am I to escape from the feelings that possess me?”