"But never after this. We will always be happy."
"Always and always."
"Mary, I have ridden all day over a burning hot desert and come under the mountains at night and looked up, and I've seen the white, pure snow with the blue of the sky behind it. You are like that to me. But you will be cold out here; I musn't go on saying nothings like this."
"I love it, Pierre. I won't have you stop."
"Sit here on this stump—now, I'll sit at your feet."
"No, beside me, please, Pierre."
"I will not move. Give me your hands. Now, when I look up your face is framed by a tree-top that goes nodding from one side to the other, and I look up at your eyes and past them at the stars until I know that our love is like them, and free as the wind. Mary, my dearest, your cold hand that I kiss is more to me than oceans of silver, or mountains of gold."
"Now, if we could both die, this would never end. But it will never end in spite of to-morrow, will it? You will go back home with me."
"Go home with you?"
"Take my hand again. Pierre, what has happened? What have I done? What have I said?"