"Do you love me?"
Then she opened wide her large dark eyes, and as he looked into them it seemed to him as if he were granted a glimpse into all the mysteries of the starry heavens. Then she veils them again with her silky lashes.
"Do you feel no love for me?" entreats the husband with a yearning sigh.
That look again, and the pale woman asks, "What is love?"
What is love? All the wise men in the world could not explain it to one who does not feel it. But it requires no explanation for those who have it within them.
"Oh, you child!" sighed Timar, and rose from his wife's side.
Timéa rose also. "No, sir, I am no longer a child. I know what I am—your wife. I have sworn it to you, and God has heard my vow. I will be a faithful and obedient wife to you—it is appointed to me by fate. You have shown me so much kindness, that I owe you a lifelong gratitude. You are my lord and master, and I will always do what you wish and order."
Michael turned away and covered his face. This look of self-sacrifice and abnegation froze all desire in his veins. Who would have the courage to press a martyr to his heart, the statue of a saint, with palm-branches and crown of thorns?
"I will do what you command."
Michael now first began to guess what a hollow victory he had won. He had married a marble statue.