Clemence took his hand and placed it over her heart.
“Now,” said she, “when I tell you that I am frightened, will you believe me?”
“Poor dear!” he exclaimed, as he felt her heart throbbing violently.
“You are the one who causes me these palpitations for the slightest thing. I know that we do not run any danger, that everybody is in his own room by this time, and yet, somehow, I feel terribly frightened. There are women, so they say, who get used to this torture, and end by being guilty and tranquil at the same time. It is an unworthy thought, but I’ll confess that, sometimes, when I suffer so, I wish I were like them. But it is impossible; I was not made for wrong-doing. You can not understand this, you are a man; you love boldly, you indulge in every thought that seems sweet to you without being troubled by remorse. And then, when you suffer, your anguish at least belongs to you, nobody has any right to ask you what is the matter. But I, my tears even are not my own; I have often shed them on your account--I must hide them, for he has a right to ask: ‘Why do you weep?’ And what can I reply?”
She turned away her head to conceal the tears which she could not restrain; he saw them, and, leaning over her, he kissed them away.
“Your tears are mine!” he exclaimed, passionately; “but do not distress me by telling me that our love makes you unhappy.”
“Unhappy! oh, yes! very unhappy! and yet I would not change this sorrow for the richest joys of others. This unhappiness is my treasure! To be loved by you! To think that there was a time when our love might have been legitimate! What fatality weighs upon us, Octave? Why did we know each other too late? I often dream a beautiful dream--a dream of freedom.”
“You are free if you love me--It is the rain against the windows,” said he, seeing Madame de Bergenheim anxiously listening again. They kept silent for a moment, but could hear nothing except the monotonous whistling of the storm.
“To be loved by you and not to blush!” said she, as she gazed at him lovingly. “To be together always, without fearing that a stroke of lightning might separate us! to give you my heart and still be worthy to pray! it would be one of those heavenly delights that one grasps only in dreams--”