“Too young? Why?”
“Because life was too sweet. It is only at our age that one loves despairingly.”
“Does the love you feel for her resemble that which you felt for me?” the Countess asked.
“Yes and no—and yet it is almost the same thing. I have loved you as much as anyone can love a woman. As for her, I love her just as I loved you, since she is yourself; but this love has become something irresistible, destroying, stronger than death. I belong to it as a burning house belongs to the fire.”
She felt her sympathy wither up under a breath of jealousy; but, assuming a consoling tone, she said:
“My poor friend! In a few days she will be married and gone. When you see her no more no doubt you will be cured of this fancy.”
He shook his head.
“Oh, I am lost, lost, lost!”
“No, no, I say! It will be three months before you see her again. That will be sufficient. Three months were quite enough for you to love her more than you love me, whom you have known for twelve years!”
Then, in his infinite distress, he implored: “Any, do not abandon me!”