“You are moved, my angel; let me wipe away your tears with kisses.”
She fell into my arms, and she relieved the various feelings of which her heart was full by weeping for some time. I did not try to console her, for she had not grief; she wept as tender souls, and women, more especially, often will. We had a delicious supper to which I did honour for two, for she ate nothing. I asked her if she was so unfortunate as not to care for good food.
“I have as good an appetite as anyone,” she replied, “and an excellent digestion. You shall see for yourself when I grow more accustomed to my sudden happiness.”
“At least you can drink; this wine is admirable. If you prefer Greek muscat I will send for some. It will remind you of your lover.”
“If you love me at all, I beg you will spare me that mortification.”
“You shall have no more mortification from me, I promise you. It was only a joke, and I beg your pardon for it.”
“As I look upon you I feel in despair at not having known you first.”
“That feeling of yours, which wells forth from the depths of your open soul, is grand. You are beautiful and good, for you only yielded to the voice of love with the prospect of becoming his wife; and when I think what you are to me I am in despair at not being sure you love me. An evil genius whispers in my ear that you only bear with me because I had the happiness of helping you.”
“Indeed, that is an evil genius. To be sure, if I had met you in the street I should not have fallen head over ears in love with you, like a wanton, but you would certainly have pleased me. I am sure I love you, and not for what you have done for me; for if I were rich and you were poor, I would do anything in the world for you. But I don’t want it to be like that, for I had rather be your debtor than for you to be mine. These are my real feelings, and you can guess the rest.”
We were still talking on the same subject when midnight struck, and my old landlord came and asked me if I were pleased.