“Imprudent man! You were going to take hold of my hand!”
“Well, I would have pressed it heartily.”
“It would have been the first time such a happiness was granted me: my hand was never pressed by any one.”
“What! Have you never formed any ties, except the sister of whom you have spoken—never been loved by any of your own condition?”
“Happily for the human race, there is not another in my condition on the earth.”
“You make me shudder.”
“Pardon me, compassionate stranger! You know the unhappy love to speak of their misfortunes.”
“Go on, go on: you interest me. You said your sister lived with you, and aided you in bearing your sufferings.”
“She was the only tie that bound me to the rest of mankind! It pleased God to break it, and thus leave me isolated and alone in the midst of the world. Her soul was ripe for the heaven where she now is, and her example sustained me under the discouragement which has often overwhelmed me since her death. But we did not live in that delightful intimacy which I so often imagine, and which should bind together the unfortunate. The nature of our disease deprived us of this consolation. When we came together to pray, we avoided looking at one another, for fear the sad spectacle might disturb our meditations: our souls alone
were united before God. After prayer, my sister generally retired to her cell or beneath the nut-trees at the end of the garden, and we lived almost constantly apart.”