There was something so
exquisite in her simplicity and earnestness that he found himself
speechless before her for a moment. It was something that
intoxicated his spirit more than his senses, for it was utterly
new to him and appealed to his own loyal and innocent nature as it
could not have appealed to a baser man.
"Ah Faustina!" he said at last, "God made you when he made the
violets, on a spring morning in Paradise!"
Faustina blushed again, faintly as the sea at dawn.
"Must you go away?" she asked.
"You would not have me desert at such a moment?"
"Would it be deserting--quite? Would it be dishonourable?"
"It would be cowardly. I should never dare to look you in the face
again."
"I suppose it would be wrong," she answered with a bitter little
sigh.
"I will come back very soon, dearest. The time will be short."
"So long--so long! How can you say it will be short? If you do not
come soon you will find me dead--I cannot bear it many days more."
"I will write to you."
"How can you write? Your letters would be seen. Oh no! It is
impossible!"
"I will write to your friend--to the Princess Sant' Ilario. She
will give you the letters. She is safe, is she not?"
"Oh, how happy I shall be! It will be almost like seeing you--no,
not that! But so much better than nothing.
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