yet
know the sovereign might of free, happy, ardent love. Yes, Djalma! on
the day when our hands are joined together, what hymns of gratitude
will ascend to heaven!--Ah! they do not know the immense, the insatiable
longing for joy aria delight, which possesses two hearts like ours; they
do not know what rays of happiness stream from the celestial halo of
such a flame!--Oh, yes! I feel it. Many tears will be dried, many cold
hearts warmed, at the divine fire of our love. And it will be by the
benedictions of those we serve, that they will learn the intoxication of
our rapture!"

To the dazzled eyes of Djalma, Adrienne appeared more and more an ideal
being--partaking of the Divinity by her goodness, of the animal nature
by passion--for, yielding to the intensity of excitement, Adrienne fixed
upon Djalma looks that sparkled with love.

'Then, almost beside himself, the Asiatic fell prostrate at the feet of
the maiden, and exclaimed, in a supplicating voice: "Mercy! my courage
fails me. Have pity on me! do not talk thus. Oh, that day! what years of
my life would I not give to hasten it!"

"Silence! no blasphemy. Do not your years belong to me?"

"Adrienne! you love me!"

The young lady did not answer; but her half-veiled, burning glance,
dealt the last blow to reason. Seizing her hands in his own, he
exclaimed, with a tremulous voice: "That day, in which we shall mount
to heaven, in which we shall be gods in happiness--why postpone it any
longer?"

"Because our love must be consecrated by the benediction of heaven."

"Are we not free?"

"Yes, yes, my love; we are free. Let us be worthy of our liberty!"

"Adrienne! mercy!"

"I ask you also to have mercy--to have mercy on the sacredness of our
love. Do not profane it in its very flower. Believe my heart! believe my
presentiments! to profane it would be to kill. Courage, my adored lover!
a few days longer--and then happiness--without regret, and without
remorse!"

"And, until then, hell! tortures without a name! You do not, cannot know
what I suffer when I leave your presence. Your image follows me, your
breath burns me up; I cannot sleep, but call on you every night with
sighs and tears--just as I called on, you, when I thought you did not
love me--and yet I know you love me, I know you are mine. But to see you
every day more beautiful, more adored--and every day to quit you more
impassioned--oh! you cannot tell--"

Djalma was unable to proceed. What he said o