Ah! my wretched pride, my idiotic dream!" That which now rang out in her stifled voice was the anger of the practical woman that she had ever been, all superstition notwithstanding.
Could the Madonna, who was so maternal, desire the woe of lovers?
No, assuredly not.

Nor did the angels make the mere absence of a priest a cause for weeping over the transports of true and mutual love.

Was not such love holy in itself, and did not the angels rather smile upon it and burst into gladsome song! And ah! how one cheated oneself by not loving to heart's content under the sun, when the blood of life coursed through one's veins! "Benedetta! Benedetta!" repeated the dying man, full of child-like terror at thus going off all alone into the depths of the black and everlasting night.
"Here I am, my Dario, I am coming!" Then, as she fancied that the servant, albeit motionless, had stirred, as if to rise and interfere, she added: "Leave me, leave me, Victorine, nothing in the world can henceforth prevent it.

A moment ago, when I was on my knees, something roused me and urged me on.

I know whither I am going.