BERTHAstillfeltonherhandsGerald’spassionatekisses,likelittlepatchesoffireandonherlipswasstillthetouchofhisboyishmouth.Whatmagiccurrenthadpassedfromhimtoherthatsheshouldfeelthissuddenhappiness?ItwasenchantingtothinkthatGeraldlovedhersherememberedhowhiseyeshadsparkled,howhisvoicehadgrownhoarsesothathecouldhardlyspeak:ah,thosewerethesignsofreallove,ofthelovethatismightyandtriumphant.Berthaputherhandstoherheartwitharipplinglaughofpurejoy—forshewasbeloved.Thekissestingledonherfingerssothatshelookedatthemwithsurprise,sheseemedalmosttoseeamarkofburning.Shewasverygratefultohim,shewantedtotakehisheadinherhandsandkisshishairandhisboyisheyesandagainthesoftlips.Shetoldherselfthatshewouldbeamothertohim.
Thedayfollowinghehadcometoheralmostshyly,afraidthatshewouldbeangry,andthebashfulnesscontrastingwithhisusualhappyaudacity,hadcharmedher.Itflatteredherextremelytothinkthathewasherhumbleslave,toseethepleasurehetookindoingasshebadebutshecouldhardlybelieveittruethathelovedher,andshewishedtoreassureherself.Itgaveheraqueerthrilltoseehimturnwhitewhensheheldhishand,toseehimtremblewhensheleanedonhisarm.Shestrokedhishairandwasdelightedwiththeanguishinhiseyes.
“Don’tdothat,”hecried.“Please.Youdon’tknowhowithurts.”
“Iwashardlytouchingyou,”shereplied,laughing.
Shesawinhiseyesglisteningtears—theyweretearsofpassion,andshecouldscarcelyrestrainacryoftriumph.Atlastshewaslovedasshewished,shegloriedinherpower:hereatlastwasonewhowouldnothesitatetolosehissoulforhersake.Shewasintenselygrateful.Butherheartgrewcoldwhenshethoughtitwastoolate,thatitwasnogood:hewasonlyaboy,andshewasmarriedand—nearlythirty.
Buteventhen,whyshouldsheattempttostophim?Ifitwastheloveshedreamtof,nothingcoulddestroyit.AndtherewasnoharmGeraldsaidnothingtowhichshemightn