Coralie had recovered her self-consciousness:
“We shall be brave,” she said.
“Oh, if I were alone! But you, you, my poor Coralie!”
“It is painless,” she murmured.
“You are bound to suffer, you, so weak!”
“One suffers less, the weaker one is. Besides, I know that we sha’n’t suffer, Patrice.”
She suddenly appeared so placid that he on his side was filled with a great peace. Seated on a sofa, their fingers still entwined, they silently steeped themselves in the mighty calm which comes when we think that events have run their course. This calm is resignation, submission to superior forces. Natures such as theirs cease to rebel when destiny has manifested its orders and when nothing remains but acquiescence and prayer.
She put her arm round Patrice’s neck:
“I am your bride in the eyes of God,” she said. “May He receive us as He would receive a husband and wife.”
Her gentle resignation brought tears to his eyes. She dried them with her kisses, and, of her own seeking, offered him her lips.