But no!' his voice deepened--'the handsome face of the orb that lights us would be well enough were it only a gallop between us two.

Dearest, the orb that lights us two for a lifetime must be taken all round, and I have been on the wrong side of the moon.
I have seen the other face of it--a visage scored with regrets, dead dreams, burnt passions, bald illusions, and the like, the like!--sunless, waterless, without a flower! It is the old volcano land: it grows one bitter herb: if ever you see my mouth distorted you will know I am revolving a taste of it; and as I need the antidote you give, I will not be the centaur to win you, for that is the land where he stables himself; yes, there he ends his course, and that is the herb he finishes by pasturing on.

You have no dislike of metaphors and parables?
We Jews are a parable people.' 'I am sure I do understand...' said Clotilde, catching her breath to be conscientious, lest he should ask her for an elucidation.
'Provided always that the metaphor be not like the metaphysician's treatise on Nature: a torch to see the sunrise!--You were going to add ?' 'I was going to say, I think I understand, but you run away with me still.' 'May the sensation never quit you!' 'It will not.' 'What a night!' Alvan raised his head: 'A night cast for our first meeting and betrothing! You are near home ?' 'The third house yonder in the moonlight.' 'The moonlight lays a white hand on it!' 'That is my window sparkling.' 'That is the vestal's cresset.

Shall I blow it out ?' 'You are too far.

And it is a celestial flame, sir!' 'Celestial in truth! My hope of heaven! Dian's crescent will be ever on that house for me, Clotilde.