Seraphitus knelt down and crossed his hands upon his breast, while Minna fell, weeping, on her knees.  Thus they remained for a time, while the azure dome above their heads grew larger and strong rays of light enveloped them without their knowledge.

“Why dost thou not weep when I weep?” said Minna, in a broken voice.

“They who are all spirit do not weep,” replied Seraphitus rising; “Why should I weep?  I see no longer human wretchedness.  Here, Good appears in all its majesty.  There, beneath us, I hear the supplications and the wailings of that harp of sorrows which vibrates in the hands of captive souls.  Here, I listen to the choir of harps harmonious.  There, below, is hope, the glorious inception of faith; but here is faith—­it reigns, hope realized!”

“You will never love me; I am too imperfect; you disdain me,” said the young girl.

“Minna, the violet hidden at the feet of the oak whispers to itself:  ‘The sun does not love me; he comes not.’  The sun says:  ’If my rays shine upon her she will perish, poor flower.’  Friend of the flower, he sends his beams through the oak leaves, he veils, he tempers them, and thus they color the petals of his beloved.  I have not veils enough, I fear lest you see me too closely; you would tremble if you knew me better.  Listen:  I have no taste for earthly fruits.  Your joys, I know them all too well, and, like the sated emperors of pagan Rome, I have reached disgust of all things; I have received the gift of vision.  Leave me! abandon me!” he murmured, sorrowfully.

Seraphitus turned and seated himself on a projecting rock, dropping his head upon his breast.

“Why do you drive me to despair?” said Minna.

“Go, go!” cried Seraphitus, “I have nothing that you want of me.  Your love is too earthly for my love.  Why do you not love Wilfrid?  Wilfrid is a man, tested by passions; he would clasp you in his vigorous arms and make you feel a hand both broad and strong.  His hair is black, his eyes are full of human thoughts, his heart pours lava in every word he utters; he could kill you with caresses.  Let him be your beloved, your husband!  Yes, thine be Wilfrid!”

Minna wept aloud.

“Dare you say that you do not love him?” he went on, in a voice which pierced her like a dagger.

“Have mercy, have mercy, my Seraphitus!”

“Love him, poor child of Earth to which thy destiny has indissolubly bound thee,” said the strange being, beckoning Minna by a gesture, and forcing her to the edge of the saeter, whence he pointed downward to a scene that might well inspire a young girl full of enthusiasm with the fancy that she stood above this earth.