In his face she had been seeing all the glories that can be given to mortals.
Thoughts had come to her that drew her nearer to her God.

Her trust in him stretched to eternity.

All that was given to her at that moment she thought was also given to him.

She seemed to know why, with love lighting up their souls to each other, he could yet grow mournful.
"Oh," she cried, with a movement that was a passionate caress, "do you indeed love me so much as that?
I never wanted you to love me quite so much as that!" It brought him back to himself, but without a start.

Those sudden returns to fact had ceased to bewilder him; they were grown so common that he passed between dreams and reality as through tissue-paper.
"I did not mean," she said at last, in a tremor, "that I wanted you to love me less, but I am almost sorry that you love me quite so much." He dared say nothing, for he did not altogether understand.