“Would you like me to take you to the play to-morrow?”
“Pray do not. I will come if you like, but it will vex me very much. I don’t want to walk out with you or to go to the theatre with you here. Good heavens! What would people say. No, neither at Marseilles; but elsewhere, anything you please and with all my heart.”
“Very good, my dear, just as you please. But look at your room; no more garret for you; and in three days we will start.”
“So soon?”
“Yes; tell me to-morrow what you require for the journey, for I don’t want you to lack for anything, and if you leave it all to me I might forget something which would vex me.”
“Well, I should like another cloak, a cloak with a lining, some boots, a night-cap, and a prayer-book.”
“You know how to read, do you?”
“Certainly; and I can write fairly well.”
“I am glad to hear it. Your asking me so freely for what you want is a true proof of your love; where confidence dwells not there is no love. I will not forget anything, but your feet are so small that I should advise you to get your boots yourself.”
Our talk was so pleasant, and I experienced such delight in studying her disposition, that we did not go to bed till five o’clock. In the arms of love and sleep we spent seven delicious hours, and when we rose at noon we were fast lovers. She called me thou, talked of love and not of gratitude, and, grown more familiar with her new estate, laughed at her troubles. She kissed me at every opportunity, called me her darling boy, her joy, and as the present moment is the only real thing in this life, I enjoyed her love, I was pleased with her caresses, and put away all ideas of the dreadful future, which has only one certainty—death, ‘ultima linea rerum’.