They were both leaning on the sill of a window which looked toward the sea. It was late, and the stars sparkled in a sky which was not yet dark, but no longer blue.
No sound was heard save the murmur of the breeze among the palm leaves and the distant flow of the waves as they kissed the shore.
They did not speak; but the arm of one entwined in that of the other spoke with the hand the words for which the lips were silent.
A perfume of jasmine, pungent and voluptuous, rose from the garden and intoxicated those two. They were happy.
She interrupted the long silence:
“Dearest, even when you look at the sky and the sea do you not believe in God, in another life?”
He did not answer, but, sighing, pressed her hand still more firmly.
“After all, if you will let me say so, this negation of yours of all that reason cannot understand is nothing but pride pure and simple.”
He was still silent and answered with another pressure of the hand, longer, more tender, and more passionate.
“The ants come into life and die without knowing man or understanding him. Still man exists; and why cannot we be so many ants to another being more man, more god, more angel than we are?”