It is owing to you that even this hour has but little bitterness for me.

Are we not happy, dearest; are we not happy even now in each other's love ?" Madame de Lescure had, while her husband was speaking, sunk upon her knees beside his bed, and was now bathing his hand with her tears.
"I cannot blame you for your tears," he said, "for human nature must have her way; but my Victorine will remember that she must not give way to her sorrow, as other women may do.

Rise, dearest, and let me see your face.

I feel that I have strength now to tell you all that I have to say.

I may probably never have that strength again." She rose at his bidding, and sat upon the bed where he could look full upon her face; and then he began to pour out to her all the wishes of his heart, all the thoughts which had run through his brain since consciousness returned to him after his wound.