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"I love you," said Dea.
After a silence, she added,--
"I was in death; you brought me to life. When you are here, heaven is by
my side. Give me your hand, that I may touch heaven."
Their hands met and grasped each other. They spoke no more, but were
silent in the plenitude of love.
Ursus, who was crabbed, had overheard this. The next day, when the three
were together, he said,--
"For that matter, Dea is ugly also."
The word produced no effect. Dea and Gwynplaine were not listening.
Absorbed in each other, they rarely heeded such exclamations of Ursus.
Their depth was a dead loss.
This time, however, the precaution of Ursus, "Dea is also ugly,"
indicated in this learned man a certain knowledge of women. It is
certain that Gwynplaine, in his loyalty, had been guilty of an
imprudence. To have said, I am ugly, to any other blind girl than Dea
might have been dangerous. To be blind, and in love, is to be twofold
blind. In such a situation dreams are dreamt. Illusion is the food of
dreams. Take illusion from love, and you take from it its aliment. It is
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