"Oh yes!
We have three, four, or five millions, I believe. If I were poor, I
should perhaps desire to bear your name, to be acknowledged as your
wife; but as it is, I would give up the whole world for you, I would
be your servant still, now and always. Why, Raphael, if I give you my
fortune, my heart, myself to-day, I do no more than I did that day
when I put a certain five-franc piece in the drawer there," and she
pointed to the table. "Oh, how your exultation hurt me then!"
"Oh, why are you rich?" Raphael cried; "why is there no vanity in you?
I can do nothing for you."
He wrung his hands in despair and happiness and love.
"When you are the Marquise de Valentin, I know that the title and the
fortune for thee, heavenly soul, will not be worth----"
"One hair of your head," she cried.
"I have millions too. But what is wealth to either of us now? There is
my life--ah, that I can offer, take it."
"Your love, Raphael, your love is all the world to me. Are your
thoughts of me? I am the happiest of the happy!"
"Can any one overhear us?" asked Raphael.
"Nobody," she replied, and a mischievous gesture escaped her.
"Come, then!" cried Valentin, holding out his arms.
She sprang upon his knees and clasped her arms about his neck.
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