I was silent.
“Dear,” she repeated, “why do you weep?”
“No doubt because I love you too much,” I managed to say at last, in an attempt to play with my emotion.
“That is so simple,” she answered.
Our happiness was indeed so simple that I could not believe that it was happiness. Until then I had sought it in the artificialities and complexities of pleasure. My engagement and marriage had restored it to me in its integrity and fulness, and I was astonished that it was serene.
She took down her hair, and it spread over her shoulders and breast, even more golden at the ends than on top. The various shades of gold blended to frame the whiteness of her face and neck. She had chosen the white woollen dress which she had worn on the day I had asked for her hand. I felt that this act brought her closer to me, and that I shared in the radiance which emanated from her.
We did not touch the supper which had been prepared. The chateau was asleep, and when we were silent there was nothing but the solemn silence of the country night. There was no one but us in the world; only us and love that was stronger than we.
“It is late,” she murmured, and it was like a prayer. “Don’t you want me to retire? I am tired.”
She leaned toward me and my mouth touched her forehead. Then I let her go. The peace that was in her dominated my love.
I sat long before the open fire—how long, I cannot say—and my heart opened to all the sweetness of life.