The woman was pale
and thoughtful, her eyes were fixed on the man. On her face were traces
of sorrow which she could not conceal, although evidently touched by the
exalted joy of her companion. When he smiled, she smiled too, but never
alone; when he spoke, she replied and she ate what he served her; but
there was about her a silence which was only broken at his instance. In
her languor could be clearly distinguished that gentleness of soul, that
lethargy of the weaker of two beings who love, one of whom exists only in
the other and responds to him as does the echo. The young man was
conscious of it and seemed proud of it and grateful for it; but it could
be seen even by his pride that his happiness was new to him. When the
woman became sad and her eyes fell, he cheered her with his glance; but
he could not always succeed, and seemed troubled himself. That mingling
of strength and weakness, of joy and sorrow, of anxiety and serenity
could not have been understood by an indifferent spectator; at times they
appeared the most happy of living creatures, and the next moment the most
unhappy; but although ignorant of their secret, one would have felt that
they were suffering together, and, whatever their mysterious trouble, it
could be seen that they had placed on their sorrow a seal more powerful
than love itself--friendship. While their hands were clasped their
glances were chaste; although they were alone, they spoke in low tones.
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