I kissed her hand again and again, and when I raised my eyes I saw the tears in hers.  She returned to the upper terrace and I watched her for a moment from the meadow.  When I was on the road to Frapesle I again saw her white robe shimmering in a moonbeam; then, a few moments later, a light was in her bedroom.

“Oh, my Henriette!” I cried, “to you I pledge the purest love that ever shone upon this earth.”

I turned at every step as I regained Frapesle.  Ineffable contentment filled my mind.  A way was open for the devotion that swells in all youthful hearts and which in mine had been so long inert.  Like the priest who by one solemn step enters a new life, my vows were taken; I was consecrated.  A simple “Yes” had bound me to keep my love within my soul and never to abuse our friendship by leading this woman step by step to love.  All noble feelings were awakened within me, and I heard the murmur of their voices.  Before confining myself within the narrow walls of a room, I stopped beneath the azure heavens sown with stars, I listened to the ring-dove plaints of my own heart, I heard again the simple tones of that ingenuous confidence, I gathered in the air the emanations of that soul which henceforth must ever seek me.  How grand that woman seemed to me, with her absolute forgetfulness of self, her religion of mercy to wounded hearts, feeble or suffering, her declared allegiance to her legal yoke.  She was there, serene upon her pyre of saint and martyr.  I adored her face as it shone to me in the darkness.  Suddenly I fancied I perceived a meaning in her words, a mysterious significance which made her to my eyes sublime.  Perhaps she longed that I should be to her what she was to the little world around her.  Perhaps she sought to draw from me her strength and consolation, putting me thus within her sphere, her equal, or perhaps above her.  The stars, say some bold builders of the universe, communicate to each other light and motion.  This thought lifted me to ethereal regions.  I entered once more the heaven of my former visions; I found a meaning for the miseries of my childhood in the illimitable happiness to which they had led me.

Spirits quenched by tears, hearts misunderstood, saintly Clarissa Harlowes forgotten or ignored, children neglected, exiles innocent of wrong, all ye who enter life through barren ways, on whom men’s faces everywhere look coldly, to whom ears close and hearts are shut, cease your complaints!  You alone can know the infinitude of joy held in that moment when one heart opens to you, one ear listens, one look answers yours.  A single day effaces all past evil.  Sorrow, despondency, despair, and melancholy, passed but not forgotten, are links by which the soul then fastens to its mate.  Woman falls heir to all our past, our sighs, our lost illusions, and gives them back to us ennobled; she explains those former griefs as payment claimed by destiny for joys eternal, which she brings to us on the day our souls are wedded.  The angels alone can utter the new name by which that sacred love is called, and none but women, dear martyrs, truly know what Madame de Mortsauf now became to me—­to me, poor and desolate.