If I were to live a thousand times a thousand years, I should never
forget that instant and that sight. She was standing up in the light,
her elbow resting carelessly on the white marble of the chimney; her
tall and slender figure, her shoulders, and her profile, were reflected
in the glass; her face was turned towards the door, her eyes fixed on a
little dark passage leading to the drawing-room, and her head was bent
forward, and slightly inclined on one side, in the attitude of one
listening for the sound of approaching footsteps. She was dressed in
mourning, in a black silk dress trimmed with black lace round the neck
and the skirt. This profusion of lace, rumpled by the cushions of the
sofa to which her indolent and languid life confined her, hung around
her like the black and clustering bunches of the elder, shedding its
berries in the autumnal wind. The dark color of her gown left only her
shoulders, neck, and face in light, and the mourning of her dress
seemed completed by the natural mourning of her dark hair, which was
gathered up at the back of her head. This uniformity of color added to
her height, and showed to advantage her graceful and flexible figure.
The reflection of the fire in the glass, the light of the lamp on the
chimney-piece striking on her cheek, and the animation of impatient
expectation and love, shed on her countenance a splendor of youth,
bloom, and life, which seemed a transfiguration effected by love.
My first exclamation was one of joy and delighted surprise at seeing
her thus, more living, lovely, and immortal, in my eyes, than I had
ever seen her in the brightest days of Savoy. A feeling of deceitful
security and eternal possession entered into my heart, as my eyes fell
on her. She tried to stammer forth a few words on seeing me, but could
not. Her lips trembled with emotion. I fell at her feet, and pressed my
lips to the carpet upon which she trod. I then looked up to assure
myself that her presence was not a dream. She laid one of her hands
upon my hair, which thrilled beneath her touch, and holding by the
other to the marble of the chimney-piece, she too fell on her knees
before me. We gazed at each other at a distance. We sought words, and
found none for our excess of joy. We remained silent, but that very
silence and our kneeling posture was a language; I knelt full of
adoration, she full of happiness, and our attitude seemed to say, They
adore one another, but a phantom of Death stands between, and though
their eyes drink rapture, they will never be clasped in each other's
arms.