“I used to work till two o’clock in the morning; I gave my mother half the money made by my screens, and the other half went to you.”
They looked at one another for a moment, both bewildered by love and gladness.
“Some day we shall have to pay for this happiness by some terrible sorrow,” cried Raphael.
“Perhaps you are married?” said Pauline. “Oh, I will not give you up to any other woman.”
“I am free, my beloved.”
“Free!” she repeated. “Free, and mine!”
She slipped down upon her knees, clasped her hands, and looked at Raphael in an enthusiasm of devotion.
“I am afraid I shall go mad. How handsome you are!” she went on, passing her fingers through her lover’s fair hair. “How stupid your Countess Foedora is! How pleased I was yesterday with the homage they all paid to me! SHE has never been applauded. Dear, when I felt your arm against my back, I heard a vague voice within me that cried, ‘He is there!’ and I turned round and saw you. I fled, for I longed so to throw my arms about you before them all.”
“How happy you are—you can speak!” Raphael exclaimed. “My heart is overwhelmed; I would weep, but I cannot. Do not draw your hand away. I could stay here looking at you like this for the rest of my life, I think; happy and content.”
“O my love, say that once more!”