“Millions alone do not make one happy,” said she sadly.  “The heart grows cold over the dead money, and my father’s heart is cold toward his daughter.  He has so many thousand other things to do and think of besides his daughter!  The whole world has claims upon him; every one requires his advice, submits to and obeys him.  From all parts of the world come letters to be answered, and, when at last, late in the evening, he remembers he is something besides the king on ’Change, the man of speculation, he is so tired and exhausted, that he has only a few dull words for his child, who lives solitary in the midst of all this wealth, and curses the millions which make her poor.”

She had spoken with increasing excitement and bitterness.  Even her love had for a moment been eclipsed by the feeling of an injured daughter, whose grief she now for the first time disclosed to her lover.

As she finished speaking, she laid her arm on Feodor’s shoulder, and clung still more closely to him, as if to find in his heart protection and shelter against all pain and every grief.  Like a poor, broken flower she laid herself on his breast, and Feodor gazed at her with pride and pity.  At this moment he wished to try her heart, and discover whether he alone was master of it.  For that purpose had he come; for this had he risked this meeting.  In this very hour should she follow him and yield herself to him in love and submission.  His long separation from her, his wild soldier’s life had crushed out the last blossoms of tender and chaste affection in his heart, and he ridiculed himself for his pure, adoring, timid love.  Distrust had resumed power over him, and doubt, like a mildew, had spread itself over his last ideal.  Elise was to him only a woman like the rest.  She was his property, and as such he wished to do with her as he chose.

But yet there was something in her pure, loving being which mastered him against his will, and, as it were, changed his determination.  In her presence, looking into her clear pure eye, he forgot his dark designs and his dreary doubts, and Elise became again the angel of innocence and purity, the saint to whom he prayed, and whose tender looks shed forgiveness on him.

This young girl, resting so calmly and confidingly on his breast, and looking at him so innocently and purely, moved him, and made him blush for himself and his wild, bold desires.  Silent and reflecting he sat at her side, but she could read in his looks, in his smile, that he loved her.  What further need had she of words?

She raised her head from his breast, and looked at him for a long time, and her countenance assumed a bright, happy expression.

“Oh,” said she, “do I call myself poor when I have you?  I am no longer poor since I have known you, but I have been so; and this, my friend, must be the excuse for my love.  I stood in the midst of the cold glitter of gold as in an enchanted castle, and all around me was lifeless, stiffened into torpidity by enchantment, and I knew no talisman to break the charm.  You came, and brought with you love.  The talisman was found; a warm life awoke in me, and all the splendor of gold crumbled into dust.  I was rich then, for I loved; now I am rich, for you love me!”