“And you would, you could, do this for me?” he asked, gazing with admiring eyes at her glowing face, radiant with enthusiasm.  “You, the petted queen of society, the spoiled, delicate daughter of luxury and wealth, you could resolve to lead a quiet, simple, unknown life, far from the world and men?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “such an existence would be my happiness, my ecstasy, my bliss.  I would greet it exultingly.  I long for it with all the powers of my soul, all the fervor of my heart.  Give it to me, my beloved; give us both this life of solitude and divine peace.  Speak one word—­say that you are ready to fly with me—­I will arrange everything for our escape; will guide us both to liberty, to happiness.  Speak this one word, and I will sever every tie that binds me to the world; my future and my life will belong to you alone.  We will strip off all the luxury that surrounds us as the glittering snake-skin with which we have concealed our real natures, and escape into the solitude as free, happy children of God.  If such a life of peace and rest does not satisfy you; if you wish to labor and create, be useful to mankind, we can find the opportunity.  We will buy a tract of land in America, gather around us people to cultivate it, create a little state whose prince you will be, which you will render free and happy and content.  Say that you will, my loved one; tell me that you will make my golden dreams of the future a reality—­oh, tell me so and you will render me the proudest and happiest of women.  My dearest, you have so long devoted your life to hate, consecrate it now to love; let yourself be borne away by it.  It will move mountains and fly on the wings of the morning through every realm.  Hitherto you have called Poland your native land—­now let love be your country, and you shall find it on my breast.  Come, my darling, come!  My arms are opened to embrace you; they are ready to bear you away, far away from this battle-rent, blood-soaked Europe.  Save yourself, my beloved, save me!  Come to my arms, let us fly to America!”

She held out her arms, gazing at him with a happy, loving smile.  But he did not rise from his knees to fall upon her breast; he only bowed his head lower and kissed the hem of her dress—­kissed her feet, which he pressed to his bosom.

“Alas!” he sighed sadly, “this little foot, in its white satin shoe, is not created for the rough paths of life; it would be torn and blood-stained by their thorns, and the fault would be mine.  No, my sweet love, you shall not for my sake renounce the world of pleasure and splendor whose queen you are, even though you wish it, and perhaps even long for the peace and quiet of solitude.  I must not accompany you thither, must not be faithless to myself.  For the most terrible and inconsolable thing which can befall a man is to be faithless to himself and turn from the way which he himself has chosen, and from the goals which he himself has appointed.