I am yours as I am His." They remained for a few moments in the power of this sweet enthusiasm.
It was the calm, sincere effusion of a feeling which, like an overflowing spring, poured forth its superabundance in little wavelets.
The events which separated these lovers produced a melancholy which only made their happiness the keener, giving it a sense of something sharp, like pain.
Felicie came back too soon.

Emmanuel, inspired by that delightful tact of love which discerns all feelings, left the sisters alone,--exchanging a look with Marguerite to let her know how much this discretion cost him, how hungry his soul was for that happiness so long desired, which had just been consecrated by the betrothal of their hearts.
"Come here, little sister," said Marguerite, taking Felicie round the neck.

Then, passing into the garden they sat down on the bench where generation after generation had confided to listening hearts their words of love, their sighs of grief, their meditations and their projects.

In spite of her sister's joyous tone and lively manner, Felicie experienced a sensation that was very like fear.

Marguerite took her hand and felt it tremble.
"Mademoiselle Felicie," said the elder, with her lips at her sister's ear.