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IV. An Hour of Bliss and Many Hours of Sadness

           

           “Nevermindwhatitis.Believethis,Icannotletmyselfloseyou.Imusthaveyoualwayswithme.ThisveryeveningIdonotliketoletyougo.Thereisonlyonecureforthisanxiety,dearest—youmustbemywife.”

           Shestarted—thenendeavouredtosaycalmly,“Cynicssaythatcurestheanxietybycuringthelove.”

           “Butyoumustanswerme.ShallIclaimyousomeday—Idon’tmeanatonce?”

           “Imustthink,”Eustaciamurmured.“AtpresentspeakofParistome.Isthereanyplacelikeitonearth?”

           “Itisverybeautiful.Butwillyoubemine?”

           “Iwillbenobodyelse’sintheworld—doesthatsatisfyyou?”

           “Yes,forthepresent.”

           “NowtellmeoftheTuileries,andtheLouvre,”shecontinuedevasively.

           “IhatetalkingofParis!Well,IrememberonesunnyroomintheLouvrewhichwouldmakeafittingplaceforyoutolivein—theGaleried’Apollon.Itswindowsaremainlyeast;andintheearlymorning,whenthesunisbright,thewholeapartmentisinaperfectblazeofsplendour.Theraysbristleanddartfromtheencrustationsofgildingtothemagnificentinlaidcoffers,fromthecofferstothegoldandsilverplate,fromtheplatetothejewelsandpreciousstones,fromthesetotheenamels,tillthereisaperfectnetworkoflightwhichquitedazzlestheeye.Butnow,aboutourmarriage——”

           “AndVersailles—theKing’sGalleryissomesuchgorgeousroom,isitnot?”

           “Yes.

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