and eloquence render the sternest of realities acceptable without
banishing the most ideal of dreams.

I bent over the bed, and in the softest notes, the sweetest tones my
voice could compass, I murmured, "Well, darling?"

One does what one can at such moments; I could not think of anything
better, and yet, Heaven knows, I had tried.

No reply, and yet she was awake. I will admit that my embarrassment was
doubled. I had reckoned--I can say as much between ourselves--upon more
confidence and greater yielding. I had calculated on a moment of
effusiveness, full of modesty and alarm, it is true, but, at any rate, I
had counted upon such effusiveness, and I found myself strangely
disappointed. The silence chilled me.

"You sleep very soundly, dear. Yet I have a great many things to say;
won't you talk a little?"

As I spoke I--touched her shoulder with the tip of my finger, and saw her
suddenly shiver.

"Come," said I; "must I kiss you to wake you up altogether?"

She could not help smiling, and I saw that she was blushing.

"Oh! do not be afraid, dear; I will only kiss the tips of your fingers
gently, like that," and seeing that she let me do so, I sat down on the
bed.