I could doubt it no more than she. As I had left her in the evening I had known it. And it was that which had enlightened me about myself, which had flooded me with light.
With the same tone of authority, she calmed me:
“That too is so simple,” she repeated.
With a supreme effort I tried to rebuild some hope. I spoke to her of her youth, of my love, and of Dilette—
“Oh, Dilette,” she said, and for the first time she grew tender. I spoke of our return to the Sleeping Woods, of the wonderful air she would breathe there, and of the spring, which would soon come.
“Dearest, do you remember the first of May?” I asked.
My words drew a faint smile from her, delicate as flowers that grow in sandy soil. Encouraged by her smile, I insisted:
“We can still be happy.”
But she declared gravely:
“I am happy.”