“And this little hand, Amélie, will be forever mine?”
“Forever, Pierre, and the heart along with it.”
He raised her hand reverently to his lips and kissed it. “Let it not be long,” said he. “Life is too short to curtail one hour of happiness from the years full of trouble which are most men's lot.”
“But not our lot, Pierre; not ours. With you I forbode no more trouble in this life, and eternal joy in the next.”
She looked at him, and her eyes seemed to dilate with joy. Her hand crept timidly up to his thick locks; she fondly brushed them aside from his broad forehead, which she pressed down to her lips and kissed.
“Tell my aunt and Le Gardeur when we return home,” continued she. “They love you, and will be glad—nay, overjoyed, to know that I am to be your—your—”
“My wife!—-Amélie, thrice blessed words! Oh, say my wife!”
“Yes, your wife, Pierre! Your true and loving wife forever.”
“Forever! Yes. Love like ours is imperishable as the essence of the soul itself, and partakes of the immortality of God, being of him and from him. The Lady de Tilly shall find me a worthy son, and Le Gardeur a true and faithful brother.”
“And you, Pierre! Oh, say it; that blessed word has not sounded yet in my ear—what shall I call you?” And she looked in his eyes, drawing his soul from its inmost depths by the magnetism of her look.