Indeed, it was easier for me to speak to the ghost than to the woman. What could I say to her? My mind was growing dim. And how could I repulse her when she, full of love and passion, kissed my hands, my eyes, my face? It was she, my love, my dream, my bitter sorrow!
“I love you! I love you!”
And I believed her—I believed her love. I believed everything. And once more I felt that my locks were black, and I saw myself young again. And I knelt before her and wept for a long time, and whispered to her about my sufferings, about the pain of solitude, about a heart cruelly broken, about offended, disfigured, mutilated thoughts. And, laughing and crying, she stroked my hair. Suddenly she noticed that it was grey, and she cried strangely:
“What is it? And life? I am an old woman already.”
On leaving me she demanded that I escort her to the threshold, like a young man; and I did. Before going she said to me:
“I am coming back to-morrow. I know my children will deny me—my daughter is to marry soon. You and I will go away. Do you love me?”
“I do.”
“We will go far, far away, my dear. You wanted to deliver some lectures. You should not do it. I don’t like what you say about that iron grate. You are exhausted, you need a rest. Shall it be so?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I forgot my veil. Keep it, keep it as a remembrance of this day. My dear!”