sed them upon her breast.
For a moment he looked at her, radiant with the intense happiness
her confession had given him, unwilling to wound her delicacy in the
slightest degree, and not thinking of yielding to the temptation of even
kissing her hair.

"You love me, and you know that I love you! Ah! what bliss there is in
such knowledge."

But they were suddenly drawn from their ecstatic state by a change about
them. What did it all mean? They realised that now they were looking
at each other under a great white light. It seemed to them as if the
brightness of the moon had been increased, and was as resplendent as
that of the sun. It was in reality the daybreak, a slight shade of which
already tinged with purple the tops of the elm-trees in the neighbouring
gardens. What? It could not be possible that the dawn had come? They
were astonished by it, for they did not realise so long a time had
passed since they began to talk together on the balcony. She had as yet
told him nothing, and he had so many things he wished to say!

"Oh, stay one minute more, only one minute!" he exclaimed.

The daylight advanced still faster--the smiling morning, already
warm, of what was to be a hot day in summer. One by one the stars were
extinguished, and with them fled the wandering visions, and all the host
of invisible friends seemed to mount upward and to glide away on the
moon's rays.

Now, in the full, clear light, the room behind them had only its
ordinary whiteness of walls and ceiling, and seemed quite empty with its
old-fashioned furniture of dark oak. The velvet hangings were no longer
there, and the bedstead had resumed its original shape, as it stood half
hidden by the falling of one of its curtains.

"Do stay! Let me be near you only one minute more!"

Angelique, having risen, refused, and begged Felicien to leave
immediately. Since the day had come, she had grown confused and anxious.
The reality was now here. At her right hand, she seemed to hear a
delicate movement of wings, whilst her hair was gently blown, although
there was not the slightest breath of wind. Was it not Saint Agnes, who,
having remained until the last, was now forced to leave, driven away by
the sun?

"No, leave me, I beg of you. I am unwilling you should stay longer."

Then Felicien, obedient, withdrew.

To know that he was beloved was enough for him, and satisfied him.
Still, before leaving the balcony, he turned, and looked at her again
fixed