One might compare Elena to the statue carved by Pygmalion, when for the first time and in order to return the sculptor’s kiss, she moved those bewitching lips. Her dress was white, which greatly increased the dazzling brilliancy of her beauty; but she was one of those women from whom ornaments do not detract.
With her, as with the noble pagan Minervas, one was not left to divine the pure form of her Olympic beauty, which revealed itself in all its splendor, though covered by silk and lace.
It seemed as though the pure beauty of her exquisite form shone through the folds of her white gown, as those of the Naiads and sea-nymphs illumine, with their polished limbs, the depths of the waves.
Such was Elena on her wedding night, and such she appeared to Tito.
She was his own!
CHAPTER XIII.
THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON.
Ah! yes: the youth beheld her as the blind behold the sun, who see not the luminary planet, but feel its warmth in their dead pupils.
After so many years of solitude and trouble, after so many hours of mournful dreams, he, the Friend of Death, found himself engulfed in an ocean of life, in a world of light, of hope, of felicity.