“The very first. When we married, although I was a man I was as you were.”
She bent down her head and laid her lips on his hand that was in hers.
“Then make our union perfect, as no other union on earth has ever been. Give me your sorrow, Boris. I know what it is.”
“How can—you cannot know,” he said in a broken voice.
“Yes. Love is a diviner, the only true diviner. I told you once what it was, but I want you to tell me. Nothing that we take is beautiful to us, only what we are given.”
“I cannot,” he said.
He tried to take his hand from hers, but she held it fast. And she felt as if she were holding the wall of fire with which he surrounded the secret places of his soul.
“To-day, Boris, when I talked to Count Anteoni, I felt that I had been a coward with you. I had seen you suffer and I had not dared to draw near to your suffering. I have been afraid of you. Think of that.”
“No.”
“Yes, I have been afraid of you, of your reserve. When you withdrew from me I never followed you. If I had, perhaps I could have done something for you.”