He stretched himself at full length at her feet, extravagant now in his acts and gestures like a man who no longer can hold turbulent passion in check. He kissed the edge of her kirtle, then her cloak and the tips of her little shoes:
"It was cruel to keep me waiting ... gracious lady--it was cruel," he murmured in the intervals between these ardent caresses.
"I am so sorry, Amédé," she repeated, grieving to see him so sorrowful, not a little frightened at his vehemence,--trying to withdraw her hands from his grasp. "I was detained ..."
"Detained," he rejoined harshly, "detained by someone else ... someone who had a greater claim on your time than the poor exile ..."
"Nay! 'tis unkind thus to grieve me," she said with tender reproach as she felt the hot tears gather in her eyes. "You know--as I do--that I am not my own mistress yet."
"Yes! yes! forgive me--my gracious, sweet, sweet lady.... I am mad when you are not nigh me.... You do not know--how could you? ... what torments I endure, when I think of you so beautiful, so exquisite, so adorable, surrounded by other men who admire you ... desire you, mayhap.... Oh! my God! ..."
"But you need have no fear," she protested gently, "you know that I gave my whole heart willingly to you ... my prince ..."
"Nay, but you cannot know," he persisted violently, "sweet, gentle creature that you are, you cannot guess the agonies which a strong man endures when he is gnawed by ruthless insane jealousy ..."
"Amédé!" for she felt hurt, deeply wounded by his mistrust of her, when she had so wholly, so fully trusted him.
"I know ... I know," he said with quick transition of tone, fearful that he had offended her, striving to master his impatience, to find words which best pleased her young, romantic temperament, "Nay! but you must think me mad.... Mayhap you despise me," he added with a gentle note of sadness. "Oh, God! ... mayhap you will turn from me now...."
"Yet do I worship you ... my saint ... my divinity ... my Suzanne.... You are more beautiful, more adorable than any woman in the world ... and I am so unworthy."
"You unworthy!" she retorted, laughing gayly through her tears. "You, my prince, my king! ..."
"Say that once more, my Suzanne," he murmured with infinite gentleness, "oh! the exquisite sweetness of your voice, which is like dream-music in mine ears.... Oh! to hold you in my arms thus, for ever ... until death, sweeter than life ... came to me in one long passionate kiss."