“I have millions too. But what is wealth to either of us now? There is my life—ah, that I can offer, take it.”
“Your love, Raphael, your love is all the world to me. Are your thoughts of me? I am the happiest of the happy!”
“Can any one overhear us?” asked Raphael.
“Nobody,” she replied, and a mischievous gesture escaped her.
“Come, then!” cried Valentin, holding out his arms.
She sprang upon his knees and clasped her arms about his neck.
“Kiss me!” she cried, “after all the pain you have given me; to blot out the memory of the grief that your joys have caused me; and for the sake of the nights that I spent in painting hand-screens——”
“Those hand-screens of yours?”
“Now that we are rich, my darling, I can tell you all about it. Poor boy! how easy it is to delude a clever man! Could you have had white waistcoats and clean shirts twice a week for three francs every month to the laundress? Why, you used to drink twice as much milk as your money would have paid for. I deceived you all round—over firing, oil, and even money. O Raphael mine, don’t have me for your wife, I am far too cunning!” she said laughing.
“But how did you manage?”