If I chose, I could tell him that the jewels were safe.

He would love me still more passionately in his happiness, which I had given, than in his grief; and I would take all his love as if it were my right, hiding the secret of my treachery as long as I could.

But how long would that be?
How could I be sure that the theft of the treaty had not already been discovered, and that the avalanche of ruin was not on its way to blot us for ever out of life and love?
The fear made me nestle nearer to him, and cling tightly, because I said to myself that perhaps I might never be in his arms again: that this might be the last time that his eyes--those eyes that are not cold--might look at me with love in them, as now.
"Suppose all these people out there had hated and hissed me, instead of applauding ?" I asked.

"Would you still be proud of me, still care for me ?" "I'd love you better, if there could be a 'better,'" he answered, holding me very close.
"You know, dearest one, most beautiful one, that I'm a jealous brute.

I can't bear you to belong to others--even to the public that appreciates you almost as much as you deserve to be appreciated.