"Yes," she continued. "For when she was dead, the girl came to the gate of heaven. And there stood St. Peter at the gate, as he always does.
"'You cannot enter in,' said St. Peter, 'for you bear on your breast the mark of sinful lust. 'But God heard it from His throne, and cried, 'Open and let her in!' And God looked at the girl's breast, and she did not flinch. 'You should know better,' He said to St. Peter reproachfully. 'Here is one that was faithful to her first love…. Enter in, My child.'"
Both were silent. A little blue flame rose from the embers on the hearth.
"Thanks, Clematis," whispered Olof, and kissed her hands that lay hot in his own. "I know what you meant. And how prettily you said it!"
"Are you sure you knew what I meant?" she asked. "I hadn't finished, you know…."
"What—not finished yet?"
"No!"
She drew her hands away, and as if summing up all she had said before, she clasped his knees and looked imploringly into his eyes.
"Give me that mark!"
Olof shivered—waves of heat and cold seemed passing through his body.