the tomb to come to him, though he had given life back to her with a
kiss, though her recovery of it has no other end than to make him happy,
she herself is still miserable because she has only half his heart. In
his delirium he tells her, to console her, that he loves her "as much as
God."

"Instantly the glitter as of chrysoprase flashed once more from her
eyes. 'Is that true?--as much as God?' cried she, winding her arms round
me. 'If 'tis so you can come with me; you can follow me whither I
will.'" And fixing the next night for the rendezvous, she vanishes. He
wakes, and, considering it merely a dream, resumes his pious exercises.
But the next night Clarimonde, faithful to her word, reappears--no
longer in ghostly attire, but radiant and splendidly dressed. She brings
her lover the full costume of a cavalier, and when he has donned it
they sally forth, taking first the fiery steeds of his earlier nocturnal
adventure, then a carriage, in which he and Clarimonde, heart to heart,
head on shoulder, hand in hand, journey through the night.

Never had I been so happy. For the moment I had forgotten
everything, and thought no more of my priesthood than of
some previous state of life. From that night forward my
existence was as it were doubled, and there were in me two
men, strangers each to the other's existence. Sometimes I
thought myself a priest who dreamt that he was a gallant,
sometimes a gallant who dreamt that he was a priest.... I
could not distinguish the reality from the illusion, and
knew not which were my waking and which my sleeping moments.
Two spirals, entangled without touching, form the nearest
representation of this life. The young cavalier, the
coxcomb, the debauchee, mocked the priest; the priest held
the dissipations of the gallant in horror. Notwithstanding
the strangeness of the situation, I do not think my reason
was for a moment affected. The perceptions of my two
existences were always firm and clear, and there was only
one anomaly which I could not explain, and this was that the
same unbroken sentiment of identity subsisted in two beings
so different. Of this I could give myself no explanation,
whether I thought myself to be really the vicar of a poor
country village, or else Il Signor Romualdo, lover in
possession of Clarimonde.

The place, real or apparent, of Il Signor Romualdo's