CHAPTER XI.
PARADISE.
They had been seated near each other for some time on the same sofa, not in the voluptuous atmosphere of desire, but in a calm and ingenuous admiration of each other.
They had no desires, for all were satisfied, but they were not indifferent nor were they weary, for the light of love shown eternally in their heaven; twilights of laughing morn or melancholy sundowns, but never night. True faithful love knows no darkness. When the planetary sun sinks in the west there are lighted for true lovers the many-coloured lamps of an electric beacon, which, like an iridescent rainbow, joins sundown to dawn.
On her knees, as if in a sweet doze, a volume of Musset was lying half open, and her right hand was more than pressed, it was grasped, in his left. She had read several pages of the great poet aloud, as only she knew how to read, pointing those immortal verses with the passionate accent of one who reading loves, and loving reads. At that inspired reading he had been always silent, but low and frequent sighs told her that through those hands closed in such close embrace there crept a tremor of high and perfect happiness. The current of her touch said to him softly:
“Listen, dear, how beautiful it is!”
And his answered hers with a tremor:
“Thank you, dearest!”