She had some vague memory of a thing luminous and warm, of which Gwynplaine had taken the place.
They spoke to each other in low tones. It is certain that cooing is the most important thing in the world. Dea often said to Gwynplaine,—
"Light means that you are speaking."
Once, no longer containing himself, as he saw through a muslin sleeve the arm of Dea, Gwynplaine brushed its transparency with his lips—ideal kiss of a deformed mouth! Dea felt a deep delight; she blushed like a rose. This kiss from a monster made Aurora gleam on that beautiful brow full of night. However, Gwynplaine sighed with a kind of terror, and as the neckerchief of Dea gaped, he could not refrain from looking at the whiteness visible through that glimpse of Paradise.
Dea pulled up her sleeve, and stretching towards Gwynplaine her naked arm, said,—
"Again!"
Gwynplaine fled.
The next day the game was renewed, with variations.
It was a heavenly subsidence into that sweet abyss called love.
At such things heaven smiles philosophically.