"What do you wish? Ah, I know!"
He smiled again, allowing himself to be caressed by that voice, by those adoring hands.
"You wish for everything, do you not? You desire everything?"
Still he smiled sadly, like an ailing child listening to descriptions of delightful games.
"Ah, if I only could! But no one in the world can give you anything of any value, dearest friend. Your poetry and your music—they alone can demand everything. I remember that ode of yours beginning 'I was Pan.'"
He leaned against the faithful heart his head now filled with the light of beautiful thoughts.
"'I was Pan.'"
Through his spirit passed the splendor of that lyrical moment, the delirium of that ode.
"Have you seen your sea to-day? Did you see the storm?"
He shook his head, without speaking.