He felt she spoke truly; he accepted her devotion, and they were married soon after.
Madame de Tecle was happy--but she alone was so.

Her husband, notwithstanding the tenderness with which she treated him--notwithstanding the happiness which he could not fail to read in her tranquil glance--notwithstanding the birth of a daughter--seemed never to console himself.

Even with her he was always possessed by a cold constraint; some secret sorrow consumed him, of which they found the key only on the day of his death.
"My darling," he then said to his young wife--"my darling, may God reward you for your infinite goodness! Pardon me, if I never have told you how entirely I love you.

With a face like mine, how could I speak of love to one like you! But my poor heart has been brimming over with it all the while.

Oh, Elise! how I have suffered when I thought of what I was before--how much more worthy of you! But we shall be reunited, dearest--shall we not ?--where I shall be as perfect as you, and where I may tell you how much I adore you! Do not weep for me, my own Elise! I am happy now, for the first time, for I have dared to open my heart to you.