How strangely you say this!
DIANE.
Do you remember the old days—before this reign of terror darkened all our lives—the sunny room in my father's chateau, where you taught me to paint the flowers we had gathered—oh! so gaily!—from the quaintest corners of the garden?
PAUL.
Ah! those were ideal days.—You, almost a child—a girl just blooming into womanhood, like those rosebuds in your hair.
DIANE.
Oh, how happy I was!—So happy, earth seemed heaven! So happy, sorrow seemed almost a myth!—I little dreamed that I would ever drink the bitterest dregs of that black cup.—The Revolution rushed upon us—and then, oh then!—
[Hides her face on PAUL'S breast.
PAUL.
Then we parted, I thought forever.