“Ah, mon bien aimé—ayez de la force pour moi—je n’en peux plus—non—non—je n’en peux plus!”
But even as she cried to me to be strong for her, she clung to me, her arms strained about me, and her body collapsed in my grip.
“Bernoline, look into my eyes, dear!”
She raised her head, her eyes met mine, all struggling at an end. Another moment, and our impending lips would have closed in the first kiss. Yet, by some inexplicable miracle, it was I who was the stronger. For what I saw in her dear eyes was so innocent and so full of trust that I could not tarnish the ideal. My arms loosed and slowly I put her from me.
She caught her breath, and her hands went to my shoulders.
“Yes, you are as I knew you were,” she said proudly. “Never shall I forget, David mon ami, mon ami adoré.”
“Thank God!” I said, drawing a deep breath.
“And now, believe me, a last time—if I could—if I only had the right to say what you want to hear, how gladly my heart would go to you! But David, I can say this: in all my life, I have never for one instant loved any other man—and I never will. That is a promise.”
“Bernoline, I have done everything as you wished, more than I would have believed I could do. This I ask: during those months of loneliness and trial, write to me, and let me write to you!”
“Is that wise, I wonder?” she said, yet already wishing to be convinced.