“Please let me go to sleep,” she said, with a supplicating air; “I am so tired.”

“And how about myself, my dear child?  I am ready to drop.  See, I am in evening dress, and have not a pillow to rest my head on, not one, except this one.”  I had her hand in mine, and I squeezed it while kissing it.  “Would you be very vexed to lend this pillow to your husband?  Come, are you going to refuse me a little bit of room?  I am not troublesome, I can assure you.”

I thought I noted a smile on her lips, and, impatient to escape from my delicate position, in a moment I rose, and, while continuing to converse, hastelessly and noiselessly undressed.  I was burning my ships.  When my ships were burned there was absolutely nothing left for me to do but to get into bed.

Louise gave a little cry, then she threw herself toward the wall, and I heard a kind of sob.

I had one foot in bed and the other out, and remained petrified, a smile on my lips, and supporting myself wholly on one arm.

“What is the matter-dear; what is the matter?  Forgive me if I have offended you.”

I brought my head closer to her own, and, while inhaling the perfume of her hair, whispered in her ear: 

“I love you, my dear child; I love you, little wife; don’t you think that I do?”

She turned toward me her eyes, moistened with tears, and said in a voice broken by emotion and so soft, so low, so tender, that it penetrated to the marrow of my bones: 

“I love you, too.  But let me sleep!”

“Sleep, my loved angel; sleep fearlessly, my love.  I am going away; sleep while I watch over you,” I said.

Upon my honor I felt a sob rise to my throat, and yet the idea that my last remark was not badly turned shot through my brain.  I pulled the coverings over her again and tucked her up like a child.  I can still see her rosy face buried in that big pillow, the curls of fair hair escaping from under the lace of her little nightcap.  With her left hand she held the counterpane close up under her chin, and I saw on one of her fingers the new and glittering wedding-ring I had given her that morning.  She was charming, a bird nestling in cottonwool, a rosebud fallen amid snow.  When she was settled I bent over her and kissed her on the forehead.

“I am repaid,” said I to her, laughing; “are you comfortable, Louise?”

She did not answer, but her eyes met mine and I saw in them a smile which seemed to thank me, but a smile so subtle that in any other circumstances I should have seen a shadow of raillery in it.