"Let us be purified of his presence, at least!" she cried, when this was done.
"And you have ceased to fear this man whom you have dared so offend?" I asked.
"He is not offended," said Lenore. "Austria is not Naples. He will not transmit my reply till he is utterly past hope."
"Hope of what?"
"Of my hand."
"Lenore! Then put him beyond hope now! Become my wife!"
"Ah,—if it were less unwise"—
"If you loved me, Lenore, you would not think of that."
"And you doubt it? Why should I, then, say again that I love you,—I love you?"
Ah, friend, how can I repeat those words? Never have I given her endearments again to the air: sacred were they then, sacred now, however false. Ah, passionate words! oh, sweet issimos! tender intonations! how deeply, how deeply ye lie in my soul! Let me repeat but one sentence: it was the, key to my destiny.