“You really think that?”
“Just as you do, Patrice. Just as you are sure of what will happen afterwards.”
“Well, what will happen?”
“Ah, Patrice, if that man saves my life, it will not be out of generosity. Don’t you see what his plan is, his abominable plan, once I am his prisoner? And don’t you also see what my only means of escape will be? Therefore, Patrice, if I am to die in a few hours, why not die now, in your arms . . . at the same time as yourself, with my lips to yours? Is that dying? Is it not rather living, in one instant, the most wonderful of lives?”
He resisted her embrace. He knew that the first kiss of her proffered lips would deprive him of all his power of will.
“This is terrible,” he muttered. “How can you expect me to accept your sacrifice, you, so young, with years of happiness before you?”
“Years of mourning and despair, if you are gone.”
“You must live, Coralie. I entreat you to, with all my soul.”
“I cannot live without you, Patrice. You are my only happiness. I have no reason for existence except to love you. You have taught me to love. I love you!”
Oh, those heavenly words! For the second time they rang between the four walls of that room. The same words, spoken by the daughter, which the mother had spoken with the same passion and the same glad acceptance of her fate! The same words made twice holy by the recollection of death past and the thought of death to come!