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--"

"Oh! dream when I shall be far from you; but, when I am at your feet,
when our hearts beat only for each other, do not evoke, lest you destroy
our present happiness, that which is beyond our power. Do you think