replied Paul in firmer tones, after his rest.
But to her it was not the voice of the lark, but the soft tones of the nightingale; not the first rays of the morning sun, but the silvery gleam of moonlight, and still it was Fabrice, and still the orchestra resounded in the chords she struck on her piano, as, without speaking, they sank in each other’s arms. At times, in the brief intervals, the stern reality dispelled Eline’s vision, and no longer was it the stage and Fabrice she beheld, but Paul, turning the pages. But again she revelled in the luxury of her fancies; Juliette saw the danger of Romeo’s prolonged stay, she urged him to go, and he answered—
“Ah! reste encore, reste dans mes bras enlacés!
Un jour il sera doux, à notre amour fidèle!
De se ressouvenir de ces douleurs passés!”
This was a passage in which Paul’s lyrical weakness appeared most; and Eline, awakening out of her reverie, heard smilingly with what melancholy he repeated it. She felt ashamed at having eclipsed him in her ecstasy; she would be more careful.
And she sang the finale less with overpowering despair than with [[68]]soft languor, so that Paul’s high chest-notes made better effect than at first; but the vision was gone, the stage, the audience, Fabrice, all had vanished.
“Adieu, ma Juliette!”
sang Paul; and she answered, with a light cry, in which he joined—
“Toujours à toi!”