CHRISTIAN (horror-stricken):
Roxane!
ROXANE:
And later, love—less frivolous—
Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly—
Arrested by your beauty, by your soul
Drawn close—I loved for both at once!
CHRISTIAN:
And now?
ROXANE:
Ah! you yourself have triumphed o’er yourself,
And now, I love you only for your soul!
CHRISTIAN (stepping backward):
Roxane!
ROXANE:
Be happy. To be loved for beauty—
A poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare—
Must be to noble souls—to souls aspiring—
A torture. Your dear thoughts have now effaced
That beauty that so won me at the outset.
Now I see clearer—and I no more see it!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh!. . .
ROXANE:
You are doubtful of such victory?
CHRISTIAN (pained):
Roxane!
ROXANE:
I see you cannot yet believe it.
Such love. . .?