What does the number of days matter if we have spent a whole
lifetime of peace and love in one night, in one hour?"
"You are right; Heaven is speaking through that pretty mouth of yours.
Grant that I may kiss you, and let us die," said Raphael.
"Then let us die," she said, laughing.
Towards nine o'clock in the morning the daylight streamed through the
chinks of the window shutters. Obscured somewhat by the muslin
curtains, it yet sufficed to show clearly the rich colors of the
carpet, the silks and furniture of the room, where the two lovers were
lying asleep. The gilding sparkled here and there. A ray of sunshine
fell and faded upon the soft down quilt that the freaks of live had
thrown to the ground. The outlines of Pauline's dress, hanging from a
cheval glass, appeared like a shadowy ghost. Her dainty shoes had been
left at a distance from the bed. A nightingale came to perch upon the
sill; its trills repeated over again, and the sounds of its wings
suddenly shaken out for flight, awoke Raphael.
"For me to die," he said, following out a thought begun in his dream,
"my organization, the mechanism of flesh and bone, that is quickened
by the will in me, and makes of me an individual MAN, must display
some perceptible disease.
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