“Ah, what are words?” answered Valentin, letting a hot tear fall on Pauline’s hands. “Some time I will try to tell you of my love; just now I can only feel it.”
“You,” she said, “with your lofty soul and your great genius, with that heart of yours that I know so well; are you really mine, as I am yours?”
“For ever and ever, my sweet creature,” said Raphael in an uncertain voice. “You shall be my wife, my protecting angel. My griefs have always been dispelled by your presence, and my courage revived; that angelic smile now on your lips has purified me, so to speak. A new life seems about to begin for me. The cruel past and my wretched follies are hardly more to me than evil dreams. At your side I breathe an atmosphere of happiness, and I am pure. Be with me always,” he added, pressing her solemnly to his beating heart.
“Death may come when it will,” said Pauline in ecstasy; “I have lived!”
Happy he who shall divine their joy, for he must have experienced it.
“I wish that no one might enter this dear garret again, my Raphael,” said Pauline, after two hours of silence.
“We must have the door walled up, put bars across the window, and buy the house,” the Marquis answered.
“Yes, we will,” she said. Then a moment later she added: “Our search for your manuscripts has been a little lost sight of,” and they both laughed like children.
“Pshaw! I don’t care a jot for the whole circle of the sciences,” Raphael answered.
“Ah, sir, and how about glory?”