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towards the aperture in the partition which was opposite the entrance
door of the Green Box. Their knees were touching. Gwynplaine was pouring
out tea for Dea. Dea blew gracefully on her cup. Suddenly she sneezed.
Just at that moment a thin smoke rose above the flame of the lamp, and
something like a piece of paper fell into ashes. It was the smoke which
had caused Dea to sneeze.
"
"
What was that?" she asked.
Nothing," replied Gwynplaine.
And he smiled. He had just burnt the duchess's letter.
The conscience of the man who loves is the guardian angel of the woman
whom he loves.
Unburdened of the letter, his relief was wondrous, and Gwynplaine felt
his integrity as the eagle feels its wings.
It seemed to him as if his temptation had evaporated with the smoke, and
as if the duchess had crumbled into ashes with the paper.
Taking up their cups at random, and drinking one after the other from
the same one, they talked. A babble of lovers, a chattering of sparrows!
Child's talk, worthy of Mother Goose or of Homer! With two loving
hearts, go no further for poetry; with two kisses for dialogue, go no
further for music.
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