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the world of whom he could say, "She has seen me, and she desires me!"
He had dismissed the dreams from his mind; he had burnt the letter. He
had, as far as lay in his power, banished the remembrance of her from
his thoughts and dreams. He no longer thought of her. He had forgotten
her....
Again he saw her, and saw her terrible in power. His breath came in
short catches. He felt as if he were in a storm-driven cloud. He looked.
This woman before him! Was it possible? At the theatre a duchess; here a
nereid, a nymph, a fairy. Always an apparition. He tried to fly, but
felt the futility of the attempt. His eyes were riveted on the vision,
as though he were bound. Was she a woman? Was she a maiden? Both.
Messalina was perhaps present, though invisible, and smiled, while Diana
kept watch.
Over all her beauty was the radiance of inaccessibility. No purity could
compare with her chaste and haughty form. Certain snows, which have
never been touched, give an idea of it--such as the sacred whiteness of
the Jungfrau. Immodesty was merged in splendour. She felt the security
of an Olympian, who knew that she was daughter of the depths, and might
say to the ocean, "Father!" And she exposed herself, unattainable and
proud, to everything that should pass--to looks, to desires, to ravings,
to dreams; as proud in her languor, on her boudoir couch, as Venus in
the immensity of the sea-foam.
She had slept all night, and was prolonging her sleep into the daylight;
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