These words revived the old longing in the poet’s blood.
“Ah,” he said, “would that those words were more than words!—that they were arrows which came whistling from some dark ambush; that they were daggers or poison, and had the power to destroy this wretched body and set my soul free!”
She was calm and smiling now.
“Childishness!” she said, and took his arm to join the guests.
They kept their costumes, and their triumphs were renewed when they showed themselves in front of the scenes. Every one complimented them. No one suspected anything.
The ball began again, but Gösta escaped from the ball-room.
His heart ached from Marianne’s glance, as if it had been wounded by sharp steel. He understood too well the meaning of her words.
It was a disgrace to love him; it was a disgrace to be loved by him, a shame worse than death.
He would never dance again. He wished never to see them again, those lovely women.