a
cause for weeping over the transports of true and mutual love. Was not
such love holy in itself, and did not the angels rather smile upon it and
burst into gladsome song! And ah! how one cheated oneself by not loving
to heart's content under the sun, when the blood of life coursed through
one's veins!

"Benedetta! Benedetta!" repeated the dying man, full of child-like terror
at thus going off all alone into the depths of the black and everlasting
night.

"Here I am, my Dario, I am coming!"

Then, as she fancied that the servant, albeit motionless, had stirred, as
if to rise and interfere, she added: "Leave me, leave me, Victorine,
nothing in the world can henceforth prevent it. A moment ago, when I was
on my knees, something roused me and urged me on. I know whither I am
going. And besides, did I not swear on the night of the knife thrust? Did
I not promise to belong to him alone, even in the earth if it were
necessary? I must embrace him, and he will carry me away! We shall be
dead, and we shall be wedded in spite of all, and for ever and for ever!"

She stepped back to the dying man, and touched him: "Here I am, my Dario,
here I am!"

Then came the apogee. Amidst growing exaltation, buoyed up by a blaze of
love, careless of glances, candid like a lily, she divested herself of
her garments and stood forth so white, that neither marble statue, nor
dove, nor snow itself was ever whiter. "Here I am, my Dario, here I am!"

Recoiling almost to the ground as at sight of an apparition, the glorious
flash of a holy vision, Pierre and Victorine gazed at her with dazzled
eyes. The servant had not stirred to prevent this extraordinary action,
seized as she was with that shrinking reverential terror which comes upon
one in presence of the wild, mad deeds of faith and passion. And the
priest, whose limbs were paralysed, felt that something so sublime was
passing that he could only quiver in distraction. And no thought of
impurity came to him on beholding that lily, snowy whiteness. All candour
and all nobility as she was, that virgin shocked him no more than some
sculptured masterpiece of genius.

"Here I am, my Dario, here I am."

She had lain herself down beside the spouse whom she had chosen, she had
clasped the dying man whose arms only had enough strength left to fold
themselves around her. Death was stealing him from her, but she would go
with him; and again she murmured: "My Dario, here I am."

And at that momen