"The whole story is to be given up to the collections, with the
exception of the room in which you lived last winter. This remains as
it was. I have only permitted myself to adorn it a little for your
reception."
Saying this I led her to the door. Standing on the threshold she
exclaimed with astonishment:--
"Oh, what lovely flowers!"
I said in a low voice:--
"And you the most lovely among them!"
Then added, earnestly:--
"You believe me, Aniela, if I tell you that it is in this room I wish
to die some day!"
Oh, how much sincerity there was in these words. Aniela's face grew
misty; all the radiance had gone. I saw that my words had touched a
chord, as all words do that come from the depth of the soul. For
a moment her whole body swayed as if some inward power pushed her
towards me. But she resisted still. She stood before me, her eyes
veiled by the long lashes, and said, with mournful dignity:--
"Let me be at ease with you, Leon; do not sadden me."
"Very well, Aniela; I will not say anything more; here is my hand upon
it."
I gave her my hand, and she pressed it warmly, as if by that pressure
she wanted to say all she forbade her lips to utter. It indemnified me
for all I had suffered, and almost made me stagger on my feet. For
the first time I felt distinctly that I was taking for my own this
being,--body and soul.
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