She had been five days in Bonaparte's company, and feared the old man, and disliked his nose.
"How long have I desired this moment!" said Bonaparte.

"But that aged relative of thine is always casting her unhallowed shadow upon us.

Look into my eyes, Trana." Bonaparte knew that she comprehended not a syllable; but he understood that it is the eye, the tone, the action, and not at all the rational word, that touches the love-chords.

He saw she changed colour.
"All night," said Bonaparte, "I lie awake; I see naught but thy angelic countenance.

I open my arms to receive thee--where art thou, where?
Thou art not there!" said Bonaparte, suiting the action to the words, and spreading out his arms and drawing them to his breast.
"Oh, please, I don't understand," said Trana, "I want to go away." "Yes, yes," said Bonaparte, leaning back in his chair, to her great relief, and pressing his hands on his heart, "since first thy amethystine countenance was impressed here--what have I not suffered, what have I not felt?
Oh, the pangs unspoken, burning as an ardent coal in a fiery and uncontaminated bosom!" said Bonaparte, bending forward again.
"Dear Lord!" said Trana to herself, "how foolish I have been! The old man has a pain in his stomach, and now, as my aunt is out, he has come to me to help him." She smiled kindly at Bonaparte, and pushing past him, went to the bedroom, quickly returning with a bottle of red drops in her hand.
"They are very good for benauwdheid; my mother always drinks them," she said, holding the bottle out.
The face in the trap-door was a fiery red.