“You have often been unjust to me, but never more so than now.  You think that it costs me nothing, that I have no heart; and yet I am not a whit happier than you.”

Her voice seemed to fail, and my pulses began to beat wildly.  It seemed to me that one more effort and I should force from her a confession.

“Aniela!” I exclaimed, “for God’s sake tell me what you mean!”

“I mean that since I am unhappy, you must allow me to remain honest.  Dear Leon, I beg you to have pity upon me.  You do not know how unhappy I am!  I would sacrifice everything except my honesty.  Do not ask me to give up that last plank of salvation,—­because it is not right, one is not allowed to sacrifice that!  Oh, Leon, Leon!”

She folded her hands and looked at me with eyes veiled by tears, and her body trembling like an aspen leaf.  I do not know, if I had taken her into my arms she might have died afterwards from shame and sorrow, but probably she would not have found the strength to resist.  But at that moment I forgot about my own self and saw only her.  I threw at her feet my senses, my passions, and my egoism.  What did it all matter where she was concerned?  The beloved woman that defends herself with tears, tears that do not flow for the sake of keeping up appearances but from the depth of her sorrow, is invincible.  I took both her hands, kissed them with reverent love, and said:—­

“It will be as you wish; I swear it upon the love I bear you.”

We both could not speak for some time.  To confess the truth, I felt at this moment a better and nobler man than I had ever been before.  I was like one who has passed the crisis in a severe illness, is still very weak and exhausted, but glad of the dawning life before him.  Presently I began to talk to her, quietly and gently, not only as a lover but as the nearest friend, whose main object is the happiness of the being that belongs to him.

“You do not want to stray from the right path,” I said; “and I will not lead you astray.  You have changed me, and all the sorrows and sufferings I endure have made a different man of me.  Through you I have come to understand the difference between love and passion.  I cannot promise that I shall cease to love you, for I cannot; I should lie to you and to myself if I should promise that.  I do not say it in temporary exaltation, but as a man who has looked into his inmost self and knows what is delusion and what truth.  I will love you as if you were dead,—­I will love your soul.  Do you agree to that, Aniela dear?  It is a sad love, but angelic.  You can accept and return it.  I make my vow of faithfulness this moment, and it is as binding as if it had been uttered before the altar.  I shall never marry another woman; I shall live for you only, and my soul will be yours.  You too will love me as if I had died.  I do not ask for anything else; and you will not refuse, because there is no sin.  You have read Dante?  Remember, he too was married, and he loved Beatrice with the same love I ask from you; he openly acknowledged the feeling, and the Church holds his poem as almost a sacred thing.  If you have that feeling for me in your heart, give me your hand, and after that nothing will be able to come between us or to mar our peace.”