“Yes,” said he; “for in the ring is the soul, which yields itself, and in return receives another. In such a golden promise is ingrafted everything which in a man says, ‘I wish, I love, and promise.’”
Lineta repeated like a faint echo, “I wish, I love, and promise.”
Next he embraced her and held her long at his breast, and then began to take farewell. But, borne away by the might of love and the impulse of his soul, he made of that farewell a sort of religious act of adoration and honor. So he gave good-night to those blessed hands which had given him so much happiness, and good-night to that heart which loved him, and good-night to the lips which had confessed love, and good-night to the clear eyes through which mutuality gazed forth at the poet; and at last the soul went out of him, and changed itself, as it were, into a shining circle, around that head which was dearest in the world and worshipped.
“Good-night!”
After a while Pani Bronich and Lineta were alone in the drawing-room.
“Art wearied, child?” inquired Pani Bronich, looking at Lineta’s face, which was as if roused from sleep.
And Lineta answered,—
“Ah, aunt, I am returning from the stars, and that’s such a long journey.”