“Oh, they do not count for anything. Most of them have no other object except as to the rich widow.”
“Don’t you see? That word describes the bar which kept me from paying my court—a rich widow, and I quite without fortune. Better perish of unrequited love than be despised by the world, and especially by the woman I adore, for the very thing which you have just imputed to the crowd of your suitors——”
“O you proud, noble, dear fellow! I should never have been capable of attributing one low thought to you.”
“Whence this confidence? You really know me so little as yet.”
And now we began questioning each other further. On the question “Since when” had we loved each other, followed now the discussion “Why?” What had first attracted me was the way in which he had spoken of war. What I had thought and felt in silence—believing that no soldier could think any such thing, much less utter it—he had thought more clearly than I, felt it more strongly, and uttered it with perfect freedom. Then I saw how his heart towered above the interests of his profession and his intellect above the views of the period. It was that which, so to speak, laid the foundation of my devoted love for him; and besides that there were innumerable other “becauses” in reply to the “why”. Because he had so handsome and distinguished a presence; because in his voice there thrilled a soft yet firm tone of its own; because he had been such a loving son; because....
“And you—why do you love me?” I asked, interrupting myself in thus rendering my account.
“For a thousand reasons and one.”
“Let us hear. First the thousand.”
“The great heart; the little foot; the lovely eyes; the brilliant mind; the soft smile; the lively wit; the white hand; the womanly dignity; the wonderful——”
“Stop! stop! Are you going through the whole thousand? Better tell me the one reason.”